The Cause and Effect Saga - Book 2: Hollow Hearts
by Faylinn Night
Summary: A string of grim crimes reveals a secret of Don's that puts Leo in mortal danger. The clan is soon met with the down-trodden world of the desperate and must search for their brother with new and old friends. Will those missing be found on time? Or is it too late for these Hollow Hearts? For one cyborg, Don doesn't think so. [Don/OC]
1. Thanksgiving Day

**Full Summery:** A recent string of robberies and kidnappings in New York ruins the new-found balance within the Hamato home. As the brothers delve into the mystery, a secret of Donatello puts Leonardo in danger. Soon, the clan is thrown into the down-trodden world of the desperate and must search for Leo with the help of new and old friends. Will those missing be found on time? Or is it too late for these hollow hearts? For one cyborg, Don doesn't think so. No matter what, he'll save Melody Gray too. [BOOK 2]  
**Genre:** Sci-Fi, Suspense, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Romance  
**Universe:** The world is a mixture. It's set in the 2k3 universe (in which seasons 1-3 and some of 4 took place) with minor elements from the 2007 movie and comics. Some features from the 2k12 series are also taken.  
**Rating:** Mature for occasional fowl language, disturbing thematic elements, and violence. I'll place warnings on anything faint of heart would find 'intense'.  
**Author's Notes:** Cowabunga, dudes and dudettes! Welcome to _Hollow Hearts_, the second installment in the _Cause and Effect Saga_. To read an overview of said series, check out character art, or follow the series' Facebook fan-page, please visit my profile. Now, prepare for this ride through hell. Er, I mean, enjoy this roller coaster!  
Also, I would like to give a HUGE shout-out to Duckiepray for being AMAZING and helping me through this story. She's WONDERFUL, people. You should read her stuff! :D  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 01 - ****Thanksgiving Day**

April O'Neil brushed the full length of her tapered bangs aside for a better view of the dark-skinned man sitting across from her in a diner's booth. "Thanks for the offer, Hugh, but I think I'll pass," she said kindly.

"You sure?" asked Hugh, shoulders square beneath his trench coat. His honey brown eyes fell to the half-eaten order of fries by the redhead for a second then returned to her pale face. "You sure Casey—"

"He won't be there, trust me," April suddenly snapped. A tight line formed on Hugh's African lips in an instant, so the woman took a deep breath to ease the narrowed eyes she just realized she had formed. "Sorry, Hugh. Guess I'm still a bit sore."

"It's alright," replied the man as he sipped from a ceramic mug calmly. "You have every right to be."

"Jones left the city on Monday. If I know anything about him, it's that he won't be back for a while."

"I see…Are you still thinking about leaving yourself?"

"Yeah. I'll spend Thanksgiving Day with the guys then head out."

"Where do you plan to go?"

"Well," April started, "I was thinking about meeting a representative of mine in South America. I like to show my face once in a while to folks I import from continuously. After that, I plan to visit my sister Robyn in California."

"That's quite the trip," Hugh remarked, taking another sip.

"Yeah, well"—the woman's gaze fell on her unappetizing fries—"I need a break..."

Silence.

"April?" Slowly, April picked her head up to face the detective. "Can I offer a word of advice?" he asked.

"I guess," the redhead muttered.

"I can see what you're going through. Really, I can. You have the same expression Mia had whenever we would fight about having children…I know what I would have done if given more time with her, so as one boneheaded man speaking in the place of another, he'll regain his senses and come back home."

"You don't know Jones as well as you think you do, Hugh." The woman huffed. "He's an oblivious ass."

"Who I've first-handedly seen so distraught with rage that he was willing to move Earth and Heaven to keep you safe." Hugh's warm eyes prompted April to reply, but she remained silent. "Like it or not," continued the man, somewhat solemn, "he loves you. I can tell you still do as well, regardless of the dumb things he does and his inability to effectively say what he means. My wife's stuck with me all this time and I've had those same issues. She just gave me enough chances, which I'm thankful for."

"I've given Jones _lots_ of chances. He's dashed almost every one."

The dark-skin detective hummed when April glared at him. "By all means, if you feel you've given him enough chances, give him no more. But only do it if you wholeheartedly believe it, without doubt. Trust me, the last thing you want is to wake up one morning and realize you've made a terrible mistake. That kind of thing haunts you."

Though April didn't particularly feel like smiling, she did, even if it was half-hearted. "I understand. Thanks, Hugh."

"What are friends for?" Hugh's smile was far more genuine. "Speaking of boneheads, though, how are Nia and…Raphael?"

"You're doing that dad thing again," April half-sung with an amused smirk.

"What dad thing?" Hugh countered.

"The thing where a father asks his daughter's friends how she and her boyfriend are doing rather than asking her directly."

"Yeah, well…it's just that you would know better than me. I don't see them near as often."

"How are you going to keep tabs on her when I'm gone?"

"Ask Michelangelo?"

The redhead sniggered. "I take it the time you and Mikey have been spending with Mia has been for the better?"

"He's an easy fellow to get along with. So, will you answer?" Hugh received a rather pointed look, but after a small shake of her head, his companion spoke.

"They're doing fine, I guess. They go out every night and spend more time together in the Lair, Mikey says. Raph doesn't really show his affection for her around his brothers, but that's expected. He's like Casey. It takes a while for him to show any kind of feelings when it isn't just the two of them…All I can say is I hope Nia's patience can withstand the stupidity that is to come from a boyfriend like Raph. She's in for a _rude_ wakening when their first real fight comes along."

"Such the optimist." April glared and Hugh gave a nervous chuckle. "Anyways, what will happen if that fight takes place while you're gone? Will Nia be able to talk to you?"

"No, she won't," the redhead replied, grimacing. "I'll only have my business phone with me, so any personal contact here will be ignored. If she must talk, she has Mikey, who knows Raph better than I do. So, yes, Hugh, if you want to remain in the loop, you'll have to talk to him, gossip boy."

"Hey," Hugh whined.

"You set yourself up for jabs like that." The woman shrugged a little and raised an eyebrow before searching for her purse on the booth's bench. "But speaking of them, I better get going. It's almost three and I have to stop by the organic store for Splinter."

"More herbs?" The slight exasperation of Hugh's tone matched that of one who's asked the same question multiple times and the edges of his mouth downturned with a sigh.

"Yeah." April offered a weak smile that soon died. "The other oils aren't working anymore. His joints are beginning to lock for minutes at a time now, and though he doesn't say it, we can tell he's in great pain. This time Don and I are going to use Eucalyptus and Violet to make our own oils, see if those make any difference."

"Hope it does," spoke Hugh kindly to his now-standing friend.

"Me too," the redhead replied. "Have a great Thanksgiving with your girls, Hugh."

"You have a good one too. Oh, and April?"

Two steps from the booth, April turned, facing the African-American's light smirk. "Yes?"

"Nice haircut," he said smoothly. "It suits you."

The woman almost laughed. "Thanks, Hugh."

* * *

Hamato Raphael couldn't repress the strange look he sent towards Nia. Yeah, he'd known for a while that his girlfriend was a long-standing fan of the Silver Sentry. But he never expected she would act like this. The tall ex-hero had just arrived and joined Splinter, Nia, Leonardo, and Michelangelo in the Lair's living room while Donatello momentarily overtook kitchen duty and Raphael set up the long table they used for special occasions.

After the initial gaping like a banked fish and fit of silent screams, Nia managed this down-right geeky laugh that reminded Raph of a hyena on crack. Her hands shook with such excitement he almost swore they were capable of propelling her off her feet. This was followed by several squeaking noises where the phrase 'You're the Silver Sentry' could sometimes be heard. When the table finally sat upright in the area between the kitchen and couch, a realization raced through the hothead's mind that had his eyes frozen on Nia's silly grin: he's dating a geek like Mikey.

"Hey, Raph, you okay?"

Raphael blinked as a green hand waved in front of him. "What, Don?"

"I asked if you're okay," Donatello repeated. "You were staring into space…at Nia." The purple-banded mutant gave his brother a teasing smirk, though the older brother wouldn't face it.

"I was just thinkin' what a dork she is. Ya would think she met the coolest guy on the planet." Here, Raph paused to roll his eyes and cross his toned arms, vision set pointedly on his excited girlfriend. "Look at that star-struck stare. Come on, we've saved the world more times than _he_ has!"

"But we don't have our own comic or television series, do we?"

"Maybe in anoddah world," Raph grumbled.

"Someone sounds jealous."

"I ain't that childish."

"Uh-huh…Well, it was good for you to convince him to come this year. I know this made her day."

"Huh?" Raph, eye ridges furrowed, turned towards his genius brother, who smiled. "I didn't convince him ta come. Mikey did."

"Oh." Pausing, Don nodded then returned his attention to Nia. "So _Mikey_ did this for her then."

"What's that tone supposed ta mean?"

"Nothing, I'm just clarifying."

"Clarifyin' what?" With a huff, Raph jerked Don's shoulder quickly so the two made eye contact again.

"You know."

"What? That it should'a been me? What difference does it make?"

The younger mutant soured. "It _could_ have something to do with you being her boyfriend," he said, just shy of sarcastic. "Doesn't it sound like a good idea to do, say, nice things for her?"

"I do things," Raph responded, glaring.

"Really? Like what?"

"Not for ya ta know."

"That's Raph code for 'I've done nothing memorable'. Seriously. Taking her out of the Lair no longer counts."

"I've done more than that."

"Kisses also don't count."

"Since when?"

"You have no sense of romanticism, do you?" Donatello sighed. "You've been together for half a month now. Don't you think it's time you did something more than just hang out on rooftops?"

"Nia hasn't complained about it," muttered the hothead.

"Because she's not that type of person."

"What are ya? My datin' coach?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help." With a sigh, the genius faced the kitchen yet kept his gaze on his older brother. "I'm not saying you need to act like a prince from some kid's movie. Just think about doing nice things for her once and a while. Then reactions like that"—Don jabbed a thick thumb over his shoulder towards the living room, where Nia's babbling could be heard—"will be reserved for you."

"How would ya know so much about this stuff anyway?" Raph asked carefully. Something about Don's somber look told the hothead his brother harbored fragments of jealously and experience. "This has something ta do wit' that—do ya smell somethin' burnin'?"

"Donny, you're letting my macaroons burn!" Michelangelo's high voice confirmed the waft of smoke that stung the air passage from Raph's nose to his lungs. The orange-banded Chūnin quickly stood from his seat beside Silver Sentry and dashed between his brothers, pushing them aside before he retreated to the kitchen, groaning. "Aw, man, that's the only batch I could make too!"

"Sorry, Mikey!" Don called back. With a cringe, his brown eyes fell on Raph then the kitchen's archway, which he soon passed through.

'_Something's up wit him,_' thought Raph as the genius disappeared.

"Raphael, my son, is the table ready to be set?"

In one fluid motion Raphael spun towards his father seated in an armchair then nodded. "Hai, Sensei."

"Then perhaps it is time you retrieved the tableware and cloth." The old rat gave a kind smile—one which could not mask his stiff pain from his own son. Even his weary voice echoed with it. Immediately, hidden concern drew Raph's eyes from his father's face to the paws the elder mutant kept atop his gnarled, wooden cane before him. They were clenched, locked in place beneath the long shawl that had recently become common place on Splinter's hunched figure. The master never liked attention being brought to his increasing stiffness, so the red-banded mutant did not let his eyes linger any longer than a second.

"I can do that, Master Splinter," a new voice added.

"April!" Nia yelled as she jumped from her seat. She said something to Silver Sentry (who Raph was quite sure hadn't gotten a full sentence from her yet) then dashed towards the redhead. The two females shared a tight hug as April set a plastic bag on the table. "You won't believe who's here!" Nia all but squealed. Quickly, she glanced towards Silver Sentry then back at April, pausing. "Your hair's shorter."

"Yeah, I felt it was getting old, so I wanted a new style," April replied with strained smile.

"I like it," replied Nia, nodding. Raphael would guess she was giving one of her trademark sweet smiles. "Layered hair is trendy and I love how it frames your face down to your shoulder tops. I wasn't sure how good you would look with bangs, but these are nice."

"Uh, thanks, Nia."

"Wh—what? Did I say something unkind?"

"It's okay." Grinning, April placed a hand on the bare shoulder Nia's over-sized sweater exposed. "So, are the table cloths in the same spot? Or has Mikey reorganized things again?"

"Ha-ha!" came Mikey's sarcastic voice from the kitchen.

Splinter chuckled, coughing slightly. "They are in the same spot as last year, O'Neil-san," he said.

"Arigatou," replied the redhead. Her green eyes fell on Nia then, who nodded instantly.

A faint smile worked its way across Raph's wide mouth as the duo left the living room in search for something clean to decorate the table with. It pleased him Nia was making more of an effort to be involved and helpful, instead of sitting in a room all day.

'_If that's true, then maybe ya should do somethin' nice for her_,' one part of his mind interjected. Raph had to shake the thought away, though; he could think about that later.

"April, is this the Eucalyptus and Violets Don was mentioning?" Leonardo questioned over the low chatter of radio music. The Jonin neared the long table and inspected the plastic bag in his hands as he awaited a reply.

"Yeah!" replied April from a distance.

After a brief moment the women returned from a narrow hallway, a pair of sheets in their hands. Raph's eyes immediately glanced from the cream sheet April held to the dark beige sheet Nia carried. He quirked an eye ridge when his attention fell on April, who gave the group a knowing smile.

"Nia insisted," she said. "Said one sheet wouldn't be as aesthetically appealing."

"No need ta make it fancy on our part, Nia," added Raph with a light smirk. "We ain't exactly the 'Country Club' 'round here."

"No, I want to!" Nia spoke quickly, teal eyes wide as they stared back at the red-banded mutant. Raphael could identify the slight tremor in her voice as her tell she may cry and without delay found himself cursing a certain redheaded man that he had actually grown to find more annoying than Mikey's silly pranks. "This is my first Thanksgiving with my new family," continued the black-haired human softly. "I can't cook, but I can decorate. So please let me…It means a lot."

"It's alright, Nia," Leo interjected after a moment's pause. When the young woman drew her attention his way, he smiled warmly. "I think what Raph meant is that you don't have to go over-the-top to prove anything. You've already proven yourself to this clan."

"Thanks, Leo," Nia replied in a barely audible whisper. She mirrored his smile, though sorrow could still be detected in her clenched jaw.

"Well then, Nia and I will get to setting up the table," April remarked boldly as she wrapped an arm around the younger female's shoulder. Smiling, she guided Nia past Donatello into the kitchen.

"What's wit' ya, Brainiac?" asked Raph.

"I got kicked out," Don replied as if stumped on a mathematical equation. "Apparently, I'm a liability in the kitchen." A short round of laughter erupted from the group as the purple-banded ninja made his way to Leonardo, his mouth pursed. "Thanks, guys."

"That's alright," Leo said. He held up the plastic bag still in his hands. "I wanted us to work on this anyway."

Instantly, the taller mutant's expression softened into a concerned frown. "Oh, yeah. Follow me." Leo did so without another word.

"I think I'll go help Michelangelo in the kitchen." Raphael did a double take when Silver Sentry spoke, rising from the couch; he had almost forgotten the superhuman was there. With a small wave of his hand, the ex-hero exited the room. This left Raphael and Splinter alone.

"My son, come sit by me," called Splinter after a short pause. Raphael barely had time to plop on the couch's end cushion before the elder mutant continued. "You are troubled."

'_He reads us like a book, don't he?_' Raph thought with a sigh. Guess there was no use in fighting it.

"That bastard shouldn't 'a said _any_ 'a those things ta her!" snarled the mutant turtle. He felt his crossed hands clench his biceps tightly, and kept his narrowed eyes on his father's somber face.

"Language, Raphael," countered Splinter sternly.

"Gomen…"

"I agree that Anders-san was unjust with his words."

"Unjust?" A low snarl bubbled in Raph's throat that he was unable to hold back. "Why not try 'a narcissistic asshole'? Or 'a close-minded—'"

"Raphael, that is _quite_ enough!" The harsh clap of Splinter's wooden cane against the Lair's concrete floor silenced the hothead. "Even I empathize with your frustrations towards the man, my son. However, you must let his words flow over you like water over stone."

"If it was _just_ me that'd be no problem, Sensei," Raphael replied with his head ducked. "But ya didn't have ta see Nia's face when Gavin told her 'I guess it's about time ya outgrew yer parents'. Sensei, he was guilt trippin' her the _whole_ time Mikey an' I were leavin' wit' her. Sayin' things like 'I know yer mother would never leave ya like this'. That kinda shit sticks wit' Nia, ya know?" Lifting his head, the student faced his master with a frown as deep as his voice. He moved a hand to the armrest, which he gripped tightly with his three fingers.

For a long moment Splinter stared back. Then, finally, he sighed. "Anders-san has grown more hostile in the past two weeks," the rat started, soft. "It is understandable, given the condition of his wife. We are the closest things he can lash out against, save from the medical staff."

"It's more than that," Raphael added bitterly. "He ain't used ta sharin' his daughter…an' our kind ain't exactly the company he wants her ta keep."

"Even so, harboring resentment will gain us little leeway with him."

In an instant Raphael locked eyes with his father—his expression solemn and his heart heavy. "We've saved his daughter's life on a few accounts. That earned us _no_ leeway. I don't think we're ever gunna gain his favor or pardon, Sensei…"

"Alright, who's ready for food?" Michelangelo's loud cry broke the small staring contest of Raphael and Splinter, drawing their attention to the culinary spread on the dining table. April, Nia, Silver Sentry, and Mikey grinned expectantly at the duo. "Phil, Ernie, and the Professor just arrived too," continued the orange-banded ninja. "That completes the list."

"I'll go get Leo and Donny," added Nia softly.

Raphael watched her head for Don's lab then stood from his seat. He faced his master only after a few deep breaths, but even then he could still feel the embers of his rage lingering in his chest. Shaking his head pushed their intensity out of mind long enough for the hothead to offer his father a hand and a small smile.

"Let's just have a good Thanksgivin' Day," he said.

"Yes," Splinter replied while reaching for his son's hand, "I do believe we all need a good day."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And so it begins. Don't forget to review! :D


	2. Hollow

**Author's Notes:** Guys, the reviews are SO LOVED and APPRECIATED and ADORED. Please keep them up; they make me feel like I'm doing something right for once. :P  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 02 - ****Hollow**

Hamato Michelangelo glanced at his genius of a brother. "Oi, Earth to Braniac!" he called—louder than his previous two tries. Given a moment, Donatello finally jerked his head upwards and regarded his younger sibling with a blank look. "Dude, you're so far gone, I think Pluto is asking where you're at."

"Sorry, Mike," replied Donatello with a sigh. His distant voice tugged at Mikey's heart, so the younger Chūnin set aside the plate of leftover food he planned to heat up for Leonardo.

Though they were alone in the Lair's kitchen, he kept his voice low enough where it couldn't be easily overheard. "What's up? Lately, you've been looking sorta…hollow. Thinking about July?"

"Huh? No, no." The purple-banded mutant shook his head then placed down a half-filled plate of his own.

Mikey frowned when his brother sighed again; only this time, with obvious traces of annoyance. "I take it the others have questioned you about this already."

"A few times," answered Don simply.

"Have you been down because of Kingston?"

"No."

"About Bishop then?"

"_No_, Mikey."

The youngest was wearing on the more patient brother's nerves, as apparent by Donatello's quick replies. Still, Mikey had to know. "Donny, you've been sighing and notably drearier for _months_. Doctors call that depression."

"I have _nothing_ to be depressed about!" the genius snapped coolly. His brown eyes narrowed then rolled before he reclaimed his plate. "Splinter's had his ups and downs, but our herb oils have been working for the most part. Everything else has been fine."

"I wouldn't say that," added Mikey under his breath. "Gavin caused big drama with Raph and me yesterday afternoon. And it didn't feel right with just April here this Thanksgiving…"

"If Casey weren't such an idiot, it wouldn't have been _just_ her."

Michelangelo frowned at the snarky, almost mocking, edge in Don's tone. Immediately, he took the plate from his brother's hands, flashing a disapproving look.

"What?" Donny asked while frowning. "The jackass practically asked to be dumped. 'A motorcycle is better than an engagement ring'? He's lucky April didn't jab the keys into his thick skull."

"Regardless, you don't have to sound so hateful!" countered Mikey. He pushed the plate back into Don's hands with such a force that it caused the purple-banded mutant to step back. "I was there too. It was a boneheaded move, yeah, but you still shouldn't belittle him."

"Whatever," Don muttered. He continued loading the plate with food, though his thoughts must have still lingered on the recently disbanded couple—if the overflowing spoonfuls of green bean casserole meant anything.

"I thought you were over liking April," the orange-banded ninja said absentmindedly. The following slam of Don's ceramic plate against the countertop echoed in the kitchen and shot an electrifying shock up Michelangelo's spine. As the youngest Hamato took two steps towards the fridge behind him, Donatello twisted on his heel, a sour frown on his wide mouth.

"It's _not_ about that, alright?" he said in a tone softer than expected. "I just—it's that—he..." Sighing, Don slumped shoulders. "I'm just _tired_ of watching idiots abuse their chances in love."

"You mean idiots like Casey and Raph?" Michelangelo's words grew a little tart, much to his displeasure. He shook his head as his older brother nodded then grabbed an empty plate for himself. There was a long chip in the side, but he couldn't have care less about it. "Guess I can understand that. I don't think it's settled in Raph's mind yet that Nia's the kind of woman he needs to be attentive with, unlike Angel…"

"Someone sounds jealous."

'_Jealous?_' thought Mikey. He side-glanced his sibling, yet Don didn't face him. The older Hamato simply walked over to the microwave, put the food in for a minute, and then exited the kitchen without another word. He left Mikey staring blankly at the room's brick archway until the latter blinked, turning his gaze to a container of macaroni and cheese mixed with bacon. '_Jamal said the same thing last night when he helped me in the kitchen…_'

"_First the macaroons, now your butter fingers smash an entire egg in my perfectly-measured bowl of pie crust?" Panicked, Michelangelo dashed from his boiling pot of macaroni on the gas stove to Donatello's side at the crowded countertop. The orange-banded Chūnin_ _was met with the terrible site of crushed eggshell sprinkled across the dough rolled neatly in a glass bowl. That alone would've been enough to warrant a sob from Mikey, but in Don's fumbling to fix his mistake, he had pushed the smallest flecks of eggshell deep into the dough's pliable surface._

"_Sorry, Mikey," Don said, drying his hands._

"_You can sodden wiring perfectly fine, yet can't crack an eggshell right?"_

"_I said sorry!"_

"_That's it; you're as much of a liability as Nia at this point. Out! Out! Out!" At the sound of Silver Sentry's voice Mikey began pushing his older brother out of the kitchen. With one final shove, the genius was exiled and Michelangelo was pleased to note his good friend stood ready as a replacement. "Jamal, could you do me a favor and pick the eggshell out of that dough?" he questioned a bit sheepishly, eyes set on Nia and April as they retrieved some silverware before leaving. Turning back, he gave Silver Sentry a large smile, hoping the use of the ex-hero's real name would be no issue. _

_To his relief, this earned him a long nod and a light chuckle. The tall superhuman set aside his gloves on a nearby stool then pulled his mask backwards to reveal a pair of dark brown eyes that Michelangelo had been introduced to last year._

"_Your new friend seems…excitable," Jamal said once at his station._

_Mikey quickly returned to his pot, which now boiled over. "She's only that way with things she really likes," the mutant replied while dumping the pasta into an awaiting colander in the sink. He flinched away from the burning steam that followed. "That's the most excited I've ever seen her, though I guess I've only known her for about three months." Sending his friend a light smile, he began rinsing the pasta in cool water. "Thanks, by the way. I know since you've started a family, you don't really want to wear your uniform anymore, but…It meant a lot to her. Like me, she grew up idolizing you."_

"_Anything for the Turtle Titan," Jamal replied. The clear humor in his voice had Michelangelo chuckling._

"_Thanks," Mikey managed through his wide grin, "but, like you, I don't think I'll be donning my super hero alias again. Uh, how's your family?"_

"_Good; the twins are getting bigger every day. It's hard to believe their first birthday is just around the corner. They certainly keep Teresa busy."_

_Guffawing, Mikey saw his way back to the turned-off stove—macaroni pan in hand—then set the pan down before retrieving the shredded cheese, milk, butter, and pre-cooked bacon to complete his recipe. "Which one likes to crawl around the house and tear down all the curtains? Trey?"_

"_No," answered Jamal, "that's my baby girl Candace. Girl is a one-man wrecking machine…She's walking now."_

"_What? Already?"_

"_Yeah. Teresa and I are torn on if it's because she's half superhuman or unnaturally determined."_

"_Is Trey walking?"_

"_Not really; he likes to roll more than anything. Hey, I think I got them all."_

_Having made the right measurements for the macaroni and cheese, Michelangelo stepped backwards until he stood beside the tall human, gazing into the glass bowl. "Yup, everything looks good. Now do you want to mix the mac and cheese?" The Chūnin_ _held up the wooden spoon in his hands and Jamal took it instantly. "So…do you regret it?" Mikey inquired as his friend headed for the stove._

"_You ask that every time we see each other," Jamal replied._

"_Just making sure you're consistent and happy," countered the mutant. He half-laughed before spreading his saved dough into a pie pan to the side._

"_Believe me, I'm very happy. You have no idea how great it feels to have a wife and kids." The pause of Jamal's stirring could be physically felt in Michelangelo's gut, as if the human's guilt had manifested. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry, Michelangelo. I never meant—"_

"_It's alright," injected the mutant, only a tad bitter. "I know very well what I can never have."_

"_Maybe never is being a little overdramatic. The young woman I met earlier, you told me over the phone that she was your brother—Raphael's—girlfriend, correct?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Then isn't there hope for you as well?"_

"_Nia's too sweet for Raph," Mikey suddenly said. His thick thumb tore clean through the dough in his strange rise of anger, and only Jamal's loud hum brought the mutant back to his task._

"_Careful, friend. Jealousy can be a dangerous thing."_

"_What? Me? Jealous?" Quick as the blink of an eye, the Chūnin_ _loudly passed air through his lips. "I'm not jealous. I just can't see why someone as quirky and fun as Nia would want to date an insensitive brute like Raph. I just—I don't—I don't see it. I don't. Do you?"_

"_I'm not one to ask." Ceasing his assignment, Jamal turned around so he met his friend face to face. "You would know better than I. What I can see, however, is a disturbing dislike for your brother's newest relationship. Shouldn't you have more faith in him?" _

_At Jamal's arched eyebrow, Mikey's thoughts immediately fell on the reason April had arrived at the Lair alone. "Given the recent track record of our resident boneheads?" he asked after a long pause._

"_Michel—"_

"_Know what? This pie can be completed in a little bit. Right now, why don't we go tell everyone food's ready to be set up, huh?" Mikey walked out of the kitchen before Jamal could reply, but he swore he caught a weak 'Alright' just as he crossed the threshold._

"Oi, Mikey! I swear if ya ain't in here wit' the rest 'a our food in three seconds we're leavin' yer shell behind an' orderin' pizza!" Raphael's Brooklyn accent snapped Michelangelo back into the present as quick as the crack of a whip.

Blinking, he quickly piled more food onto his plate—not really minding what he chose—as he cried back, "I'll be there in a minute!"

* * *

Why did his brothers always feel a need to argue? Even over the dumbest of things, they made snappy comments. Hamato Leonardo didn't think he could withstand one more of these comments—he really didn't. They'd been following the group ever since the ninja quartet left the Lair nearly two hours ago and it was because Michelangelo had been prodding at Raphael with such a fury that even Donatello snapped at them once.

The Jonin had let the brotherly discord slide for the first few times—If only because the fighting lasted only a moment—but when the prodding grew more constant, Leo forced the group to land on a narrow, flat roof of a dance club. Immediately, he spun to face the duo behind him, yet neither brother met his stern gaze. Raphael was preoccupied with something off to the side while Michelangelo bypassed the leader and Donatello to overlook the main street below.

Of course, Mikey's voice had to dash Leo's small hope that the prodding had actually stopped. "Hey, there's a nice little craft store down there. I'm sure Nia would like to visit that. Don't you think, Raphy?"

Like the other fifteen times, Mikey was answered with a low growl followed by the question, "Would ya stop sayin' things like that _every_ block we pass?"

"What?" asked Mikey, a patronizing tinge in his tone. "I'm just saying."

"Now's not the time for this, you two," Leonardo finally interjected. He kept his voice level, despite wanting to yell, and even repressed a sigh as Michelangelo sent him a fake innocent expression.

"But now's a perfect time to scout for places, Leo," the youngest Hamato noted, smiling.

Leo grimaced. "We aren't here to scout; we're on patrol."

"So?" Mikey shrugged. "Nothing's come up yet. Besides, Raph should find places to take Nia that aren't roofs."

"I can take care 'a that kinda stuff myself," snarled Raphael, stomping a heavy foot.

"Obviously not," the orange-banded mutant retorted. He faced Raph again, meeting the stocky Chūnin's glare squarely. "If Nia were _my_ girlfriend, I'd be taking her to all kinds of places. Not just rooftops."

Amber eyes rolled. "She likes rooftops. An' in case ya took one too many blows ta the head, we can'texactly enter any normal places, idiot."

"Oh, bull," remarked Mikey suddenly. His form straightened as he crossed his arms, and Leo barely detected what must've been a sly smile across the youngest's face. "We've done it before. Just pick the right time and place and you can easily be mistaken as a horribly disfigured fat man instead of the horrible disfigured ninja turtle that you are."

"Mikey, I don't think Raph putting himself in such a position is a good idea," Donatello added dryly. The genius stood between his brothers to keep a growling Raph from outright body-slamming Mikey. It barely worked.

"I don't see the harm," countered Michelangelo with a huff. "We used to do it a lot when we were younger."

"Yes, and it was dangerous then, too," continued Leonardo. With a small sigh, the Jonin rounded the group, signaling them to follow him to the roof's ledge. Once they did so, he peered over the building's shin-high lip. "Disguises are a last resort and not our priority right now, Mikey. Do you want to tell Phil and Ernie we aren't taking this seriously?" In an instant, Leo sensed Mikey's face drop.

"Hey, I am _too_ taking this seriously!" the youngest cried in obvious defense. "Just because I don't have my eyes glued on every single cranny doesn't mean—What?"

Leonardo held up a hand for silence. Albeit with a few disgruntled noises, Michelangelo listened and hopped on the ledge his older brothers peered over. Together, the group eyed some subtle movement in the barely-lit alley. Leo's six fingers twitched at his sides, ready to draw his weapons if necessary. However, the metallic rustling of trashcans was soon followed by a goofy laugh that sounded fit for a child's cartoon.

The Jonin felt a bit of tension leave his body as a bulky-clothed figure tripped over the trashcans he had once been standing beside into the grimy backlight of a sports bar. There, the figure promptly stumbled to the trash-littered ground and once he managed to sit upright, he began occasionally giggling as his dingy sneakers tapped the body of a fallen trashcan.

"Great; it's a drunk," Raphael commented in well-practiced sarcasm.

"Don't be so quick to assume," remarked Donatello.

"Seriously? Ya don't consider that drunk?"

The purple-banded Chūnin disregarded Raph's deadpan expression completely, and instead leaned further over the concrete edge, vision set firmly on the human making small beats on the asphalt with his hands. Only after a long moment did Don lean back.

"Look at how he's moving," he added, jutting his chin forward. Leo exchanged brief looks with Mikey and Raph before he did as his genius brother commanded. "Notice his movements. They look sluggish and uncoordinated, but if you study them, you'll notice they have order. His hands and feet, even his head, are moving to a well-timed beat, a tempo."

"Oh, so he's a musical prodigy." Leo sighed at Raph's biting sarcasm.

"Do you mean his hands, feet, and head are all tapping a different song?" Mikey asked.

Donny shook his head. "No. I think it's the same one."

"How can ya even tell something like that, Braniac?"

"Break."

"I didn't break anything," noted Mikey quickly, hands up.

"The song Break," Don elaborated in a near-strenuous tone. He pointed to the low brick building ahead that Leo now realized thumped with muffled music. "By Three Days Grace."

"Ah," Mikey drawled while nodding as if realizing something obvious. Then, he paused. "What about it?"

Donatello promptly ran a hand down the side of his face. "Don't you get it? The instruments. He's tapping his limbs to the beats of the drums, guitar, and bass."

"Oh…so he _is_ a musical prodigy?"

"Not so much a prodigy, Mikey," answered Don with a light shake of his head. "Just someone who really likes music."

"An' he's actin' like a three-year-old 'cuz…?" Raph raised an eye ridge, awaiting an answer.

"Rupert!" a new, very alarmed, feminine voice cried out. It startled even Leonardo, who scraped his shin on the concrete lip when he spun and ducked to face the alley's mouth.

"Damn, that woman's got some lungs, don't she?" Raphael questioned in a whisper. He had followed his older brother's lead like the remaining Hamato brothers, ducking low to keep out of sight.

Leonardo didn't reply, but watched intently as a curly-haired brunette bundled in a worn fur coat approached the man with haste. The hard clicks of her heels drew Rupert's attention, though he didn't rise from the ground. He only released another goofy laugh and outstretched an arm like a child wanting to be picked up by their parent.

"Rupert, I swear you almost gave me a heart attack," the woman said with broken words. When close enough, she reached a gloved hand to his bare one then wrapped her fingers around his, sighing shakily. "I _told_ you, you can't leave like that. You _have_ to stay by my side."

"Sammy," spoke Rupert. His high voice sounded no less silly than his laugh had been. "Sammy, music."

"Yes, I know, you love music," Sammy replied as she kneeled to help the man up. Doing so cost her little effort—regardless of how Rupert towered over her—which left Leo convinced she had been pulling the grown man out of alleys for years already. "We can't always follow the music, though, can we?" she asked, moving to catch his erratic gaze.

Like a wounded child, Rupert's head ducked, the chipper light in his movements suddenly dimming. "No, Sammy."

"Hey," Sammy's hand rose to catch the man's face and draw his eyes to her, "You aren't in trouble, okay? You just scared me. Bars aren't a good place for you. Remember? The people there are _not_ nice."

"No, not nice," replied Rupert, his voice less goofy as it lowered.

"Alright, come on." Stepping back, Sammy slipped her arm under the man's and began leading him out of the alley. "Cliff took the girls to Christmas shop for their brothers, so you and I are going to keep Ryan and James from fighting over who gets the best present in their name."

Laughing like a hyperactive child, Rupert jumped a little in excitement. "Tory help me!"

"Yeah, Tory loves you," Sammy replied. The rest of their conversation was lost to the city's usual chatter.

Leonardo stood straight at the same time as his brothers, his eyes lingering on the alley's mouth for a second before he faced his family. "I guess we'll call it a night. We haven't seen anything out of the ordinary."

"Oh, have you guys started your Christmas shopping yet?" Michelangelo asked with a Cheshire grin. His lowered baby blues fell on each of his brothers. "Have any of you picked out a gift for Nia yet?"

"Mikey," Leo snapped. He tried maintaining his displeasure, yet sighed after a long moment of staring into the youngest's wide, hopeful eyes. "We can make a game plan about that when we get home. Alright?"

"Yes!"

"But our priority is still to help Ernie and Phil with Star."

"I know."

"Good." The Jonin nodded to the others and without another word, the ninja disappeared from the roof.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** There's a lot of foreshadowing in this. May not seem it, but it's true. Prepare. And don't forget: review please! :D


	3. Little Red Robberies

**Author's Notes:** Here's chapter three, folks! Once I get four to five reviews, I'll post chapter four. :D  
**Warning:** Some strong language  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 03 - ****Little Red Robberies**

Tinkering didn't have the relaxing effect Hamato Donatello had hoped for. Instead of losing himself in his work—falling in line with tasks like a well-oiled machine—he found himself cursing. A lot.

Normally, he wasn't the kind of guy to do such a thing without good reason. So why, then, did they so easily leave his lips when a soldering tool was pushed off the workbench or a couple of propped wires fell back behind their parent machine? Things like that were to be expected when working. Don certainly expected them. Yet he cursed anyway, as if possessed.

"_Donny, you've been sighing and notably drearier for months. Doctors call that depression."_

As Mikey's voice penetrated his thoughts, Donatello grimaced. '_I'm not depressed_,' he thought definitively. '_How could they think such? All of them. What I _am_ is behind on Lair maintenance. Need to diagnose that glitch in the video feed and I'll feel better doing that once the main computer is back on par. Just need to get…these…Come on, you stupid wires!_'

For the last five minutes Don had been sitting on the concrete floor, leaning in the crook of his tall computer servers and the brick wall of his lab. His attempt at retrieving some lost wires from behind the machines was proving to be a useless cause—no matter how much of his arm he was able to slip between the space. And it had the mutant huffing.

Outstretched, his three fingers barely grazed the smooth surface of the coveted bundle before they fell further away from the male's grasp. It didn't take long for him to jump to his feet, snatch an innocent wrench from a near-by shelf, and chuck it across the lab like a shuriken.

"Damn! Shit! Fuck! Son of a—"

"Well, it seems our resident genius is being colorful for a change."

Despite Leonardo's amused tone, Donatello couldn't bring himself to fake a smile. '_Great,_'' he thought, turning to face his older brother, who stepped further into the lab, '_of course the last person I want to catch me slipping catches me anyway. Thanks, Turtle Luck._'

"Hey, Donny, you want to—"

Don immediately held up a hand. "Don't, Leo."

"What?" The Jonin stopped in front of his sibling, crossing his arms in a big brother fashion that Donatello had long-since learned was a sign of persistence. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to join me in the living room with Mikey and Raph for a little meeting, but"—his dark brown eyes drifted to the array of scattered tools behind Don—"I guess you're a bit busy."

"Yeah," Donatello grumbled, sighing. "I tried running the facial recognition program again and like _before_ the servers began over-heating. Only, this time when I shut down the system, their temperatures didn't fall. Luckily, they didn't rise too far."

"Are the temperatures down now?"

"Yeah; they lowered about half an hour ago."

"Good. Have you found the cause?"

"Well, it's not a bug; my firewalls are far too powerful to let something slip by. Still, I took precautionary measures and ran a scan after defragging each server. It's safe to say the issues are with the cables."

Leo raised an eye ridge. "The cables?"

Nodding, the genius backed up so he could lean against the workbench behind him. "I anticipated a high chance of this happening. I just hoped it wouldn't happen so soon. See, the AC cords I have now are low-to-medium-watt, meant to power more than your average computer yet still not powerful enough for the new servers. The old stuff I have and what I've managed to salvage doesn't have near enough insulation to maintain the current, so they're melting."

"Woah," Leo said, sudden. His eyes widened behind his mask then relaxed again. "You haven't had a fire…have you?"

"I had a small one, but put it out quick."

There was a strange rasping-choking sound as the Jonin's arms uncrossed. "Seriously? When was this?"

"Last week…What?" Don shrugged at Leo's narrowed gaze. "I said it was small."

"Still, you should've mentioned something."

"What could you do about it?"

"I guess…nothing." With a shake of his head, Leonardo crossed his arms again, his expression more solemn than Donatello would like. "Why didn't you buy new cables when you bought the servers?"

"Because the servers alone cost a shit ton of money, that's why," Don snapped. Then, the purple-banded Chūnin paused to reign in a sudden urge to curse. "Sorry, Leo," he added, now soft. "It's just that I thought for _sure_ these could last until after Christmas."

"I understand," replied Leo, equally as soft. "But servers can't be the only reason you were cursing like a sailor, can it?"

At Leonardo's brotherly look, Donatello wanted to run, far and fast. His expression clearly told the Jonin he didn't want to hear any more—the genius ensured as much—but the furthest he could escape was a few steps before the eldest Hamato blocked his path.

"I know you don't like prying, Donny," said Leo sternly, "but it…it hurts you won't talk to any of us."

"Sorry, Leo," Don retorted, moving aside. "It's not something that can be fixed by talking."

"How do you know if you won't _try_?" Leonardo immediately gripped his brother's bicep to prevent him from straying far.

For the longest time, Donny stared at Leo's face until the hurt in it grew unbearable. "I—I made a mistake, okay?" he replied lowly, gaze averting to the concrete ground. "A few months ago, I hurt someone, someone who was…close to me. And recently it's settled in that I've lost my chance to make things better…"

"Close to you?"

"S—sorry; that's all I can say…" The loosening of Leonardo's grip is what convinced Donatello to finally raise his vision. Obviously, his older brother felt less than content with the outcome yet forced a little smile anyway.

"Alright," the Jonin started, rather uneasily, "but if you want to talk about it, you know we're here for you."

"Yes, I know," Don whispered back with a small smile.

"So, want to join me for the meeting I mentioned?"

"Yeah..."

Donatello let his older brother lead the way since the blue-banded mutant had turned and began walking before Donny even took his first step. Together, they traveled the length of a narrow hallway outside the Lab to the brightly-lit living room at the end. But before the duo reached their destination, Don noted two distinct voices speaking with one another.

"Really?" Michelangelo whined. "Nia's Topside, visiting her parents and starting her own shopping. Now's the perfect time to talk about this!"

"I'm tryin' ta watch Ultimate Wrestin' Smackdown, numbskull," Raphael retorted with a displeased grunt. "Go away or be quiet."

"You won't even give me a clue?"

"After last night, did ya think I _would_?"

"I bet you still got nothing and are trying to hide the fact."

"Whatever."

"Come on, Raphy, you need help. Admit it."

"I ain't the one who needs help."

"Sure you don't, my brother. I bet my present for Nia will be more awesome than yours. Scratch that, I _know_ it will!"

Don and Leo entered the room in time to see their youngest brother jump with excitement in his seat on the weathered couch. They didn't speak, though, and, in a mutual interest, kept their distance behind the furniture.

Raph scoffed, turning away from the wrestling match on television. "And what _are_ ya gettin' her?"

"Hey, if you aren't gunna share, then I'm not either," retorted Mikey. "I know exactly what I'm getting everyone; though I'm starting to reconsider yours." Pausing, the mutant rubbed his wide chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Wonder if I could get Hugh something as well. He's been very nice."

"Remember: ya got limits."

"I can ask Don for a little extra."

"Why? So ya can run around like a monkey for it?"'

Don frowned at that.

"Hey!" Mikey crossed his arms and huffed. "I _like_ that Don makes us work for some of it. Doesn't it make you feel better about taking it?"

"Not exactly," Raphael muttered, turning back to the show.

The youngest Hamato shook his head. "Well, until the rest of us can figure out a way to make cash, we're stuck with that exchange. So, do you plan to do something romantic on Christmas Eve or what?"

"Okay, that's enough," Leonardo finally interjected as he and Donatello approached the back of the couch. The two seated mutants twisted the best they knew how given the restrictions of their carapace and faced their eldest brother's even stare. "Mikey, there will be plenty of time to talk about and buy gifts. Before that, we should focus on the favor Ernie and Phil asked of us."

"That's a night job, though," Michelangelo countered with furrowed eye ridges.

"We can't do anything physical until night, Mikey," Donny added. "Brainstorming can happen any time. That's why Leo wants a meeting."

"What's brainstormin' gunna do for us, Brainiac?" asked Raphael dubiously. "A couple 'a their friends have gone missin' an' they want us ta keep an eye out for 'em. That's pretty cut an' dry."

"Don't forget the lead Phil mentioned."

Raph scowled at the Jonin. "Oh, ya mean the one where a red demon snatched his girlfriend Star?"

"Alright, so they're a little—"

"Detached?" interjected Mikey, his grin shallow.

"Yeah…" Leo sighed, but Don gave them all a pointed look.

"Regardless"—the genius stated, humorless—"they've been good to us over the years and deserve our full attention, don't you agree?" Instantly, the three brothers replied with own signature look of shame—Leo with his subtle frown, Raph with his averted gaze, and Mikey with a sheepish duck of his head.

"Yeah, you're right, Bro," the youngest said in a meek voice.

Donatello sent him a nod. "While I don't think there's a red beast prowling through the night, picking up people, there could be a connection with another string of crimes." Rounding the couch, Don retrieved a chunky remote from the coffee table. His thick finger expertly pushed a saved channel button near the bottom that switched Raphael's UWS to News Channel Six.

"And Phil's red demon is connected to the crime of possible snow?" asked Mikey, pointing to the dreary weather forecast on screen.

"No," Don answered. With a push of three more buttons, the purple-banded mutant brought up a pre-recorded news segment in which a well-groomed brunette—adorned with a wool jacket and crocheted gloves—stood before a tall industrial building, which was encased in large sheets of plastic on one side.

Her painted lips were frozen in mid-sentence above a black microphone because Don paused the program, so he could continue to explain. "I recorded this yesterday then watched it before I went to bed. The topic should be familiar."

Instantly, the program began to play, drawing the attention of the other Hamato brothers. "—ood morning, everyone," the brunette said pleasantly. "I'm reporter May Fields from Channel Six News, reporting live from the front steps of the Oswald Cybernetics Corporation, where yet another Little Red Robbery took place last night. Details of the crime are extremely limited—given the secretive nature of the company—but sources say that the iconic red hoods notable in past Little Red Robberies were confirmed from what little surveillance feed could be salvaged. If you look behind me"—May stepped aside so the audience could spot what she pointed to—" you can see three large tarps attached to the building's right side, covering a gaping hole in its concrete structure. This was the apparent point of entry—a rather large feat considering its _six_ stories up."

Pausing, the woman returned to her station then drew in a deep breath. "A list of stolen items is available only to the NYPD, so we can only speculate the amount of materials taken. The bigger question, though, is this: how can a robbery six stories off the ground be so successful? Will the raids against New York's finest research companies ever be stopped? KALTek, Erudio Laboratories, and Christian's University for Biological Advancement are among the many marks that have already been struck with the set-back of a Little Red Robbery. Who will be next? I'm afraid only time can tell. This has been May Fields of Channel Six News. Back to you, Christa."

"Thank you, May," Christa Neville replied as the feed cut to Channel Six's anchorwoman at a large, glossy desk. She gave a charming smile that fit her business image perfectly, straightening her posture. "On that note, Police Commissioner Jeffrey Powell has confirmed that a special task force is on the case, and with the possible aid of John Bishop, they hope to solve the Little Red Robberies soon. Reports state that funding for the new EPF station will be taken from—"

The recording paused again, courtesy of Donatello. Instead of switching the television back to its previous program, the genius shut it off altogether. He set the remote back on the coffee table then faced his brothers, eyes questioning.

"So," started Michelangelo from his seat, "am I the only one who's confused about what robberies and kidnappings have in common? Tell me I'm not."

"For once, ya ain't, Mike," Raphael added while crossing his toned arms.

"It's the red cloak, right, Don?" Leonardo asked before anyone else could comment.

Donatello nodded towards his elder brother. "Yes. Think about it. Ernie and Phil see the world…differently than the rest of us. It's possible a red-cloaked figure could look like a red demon."

"Thought"—Mikey held up his hands for attention—"say they _are_ the same people. It doesn't explain why a group interested in robotics and science would snatch someone off the street."

"Especially a homeless woman," added Raph, almost under his breath.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Donny questioned indignantly. In an instant, his eyes narrowed at his red-banded brother.

The taken aback Raph straightened up in his seat under such weight, but kept any kind of surprise from his expression when he replied. " It seems like a weird kidnappin', is all. She's a five-buck-ransom at most. An' no offence ta Phil, but I'm sure she ain't the degree 'a woman that's wanted for a prostitution ring. The bottom line is: there ain't any reason for someone that's goin' around targetin' labs an' research colleges ta take her."

"True as that may seem," hissed Donatello, "you shouldn't talk about Star like that—as if she has no value."

"Come on, Donny; I didn't mean it like that."

"No, that's just how it came out. Right?"

"Stop it, you two," Leo interjected, stern. He stepped between Don and Raph to keep the genius from advancing any closer towards the couch. When Don's vision rose to meet his, he shook his head lightly in disapproval until the former stepped back. "Though the theory seems like a stretch," he continued while glancing over his siblings, "it's all we have to go on right now. The Little Reds have grown popular over the last two months anyway, so it's worth a look. Remember, when we were solving the mystery of Nia, nothing seemed connected then either."

"Well I, for one, hope this mystery doesn't end as horribly as that did," commented Mikey. "You know, aside from the meeting Nia and her parents still being alive part."

Don nodded along with Leo, though reminded silent.

"When we go out on patrol tonight, we'll investigate Oswald Cybernetics," the Jonin added. Pausing, he awaited a round of nods, which he soon received. "Good. Be ready in three hours."

"Sounds like a plan!" Mikey exclaimed against the backdrop of his brother's acknowledging grunts. As the orange-banded ninja rose to his feet, a familiar grinding of metal had him twisting in excitement. "Hey, Nia's back!"

* * *

With a small grin on her face, Nia Anders ceased pouring milk into her plastic bowl of multi-colored cereal and glanced down at her feet. An orange, straggly-haired cat eagerly weaved between her legs in the form of an infinity symbol. Occasionally he would shock himself against her teal and royal blue stockings, yet he still mewed with the expectation of a treat, causing the young woman to giggle.

"Hi, Klunk," said Nia softly. Her smile grew when said cat looked up at her without hissing or pinning his ears back. "Sorry; I was told by your daddy not to give you so much milk. Says it's bad for you."

In response, Klunk meowed like a whiney child then reared up, stretching his front legs out until his claws shallowly dug into Nia's upper thigh, just above the hem of her oversized, gray sweater.

"Oh, come on," she whined back, tucking a thick chunk of her long, black hair behind her ear. "I'm trying to be good. Your pleading makes that hard, you know?"

Again, Klunk meowed—this time more pathetically—and Nia simply sighed the moment he returned to rubbing against her legs. She tried finishing her task as if the cat weren't affecting her judgment. However, after a few more meows, she turned to the begging creature beside her.

"Fine," she whispered. "But just a little bit, alright?" Before the pale-skinned woman even found a container for milk, Klunk had started a chorus of excited mews. Nia hurriedly delivered the treat in hopes of silencing the feline and breathed a small sigh of relief once he began drinking, completely content.

"Didn't Mikey tell ya ta stop doin' that?" a deep voice questioned.

Nia spun wildly towards the kitchen's entrance, where Raphael approached from. "I didn't give him a lot," she replied, smiling nervously at her boyfriend's quirked eye ridge.

"But ya still gave in." The mutant stopped a few steps ahead of Nia then smirked while she whined in defeat. "Ya ain't gotta bribe him so much anymore, ya know? He don't run."

Shrugging, Nia gave a lopsided grin. "I'm not bribing. I'm just"—she glanced at the animal then Raph—"I can't help it, okay? It's great not having animals running away in fear of me. Klunk's the first cat I've ever coerced to pet. Besides, look how cute he is."

"Cute?" Raph's amber eyes fell on Klunk. "The thing looks like he got his paw stuck in an electrical socket an' I'm sure his fur feels like dried mud."

"No, it doesn't; it's just coarse," responded Nia with a small pout. Though she attempted to keep her expression straight with disapproval, a smile spread across her lips when Raphael faced her again.

"Whatever," he said easily. "I'm more of a dog person. An' not those toy dogs either; I mean a _real_ dog. Like a German Sheppard."

"I wonder when I'll get to pet a dog," Nia wondered out loud. She tapped an index finger against her chin, visualizing the difference in texture of cat and dog fur, but shook the thought away when Klunk ran from the kitchen.

With the creature now gone, Raphael kicked the empty dish towards Nia's feet and proceeded to prepare his own bowl of cereal. The young woman bent down for the dish, picked it up, and then dropped it into the empty sink beside the refrigerator. As she twisted the cold water handle, she opened her mouth with the intent of asking about his reason for being up at four in the morning, yet a sudden, strange squeal had her jumping in surprise. She barely had the mind to turn the sink off before she twisted sideways.

"What was that?" she cried. Raphael didn't face her, though. Or answer her, for that matter. He quickly backed away from the counter, his moves animated, and she swore his face paled to a shade of gray-green. "Raph, what's wrong?"

"Where's a fuckin' newspaper?" he asked, gruff voice loud with alarm.

"I—I don't know," the young woman answered. She frowned as Raphael tripped over the leg of a chair in his wild search. "Wh—what's going on?"

"On the counter," the mutant hissed. "It needs ta be killed!"

"What does?"

"That fuckin' spider; that's what!"

Nia turned from her frantic boyfriend, who still hadn't found a perfect weapon, and neared the counter. She bent down to study the marble-print laminate that hid a little spider no bigger than the radius of a marker lid. It crept across the surface slowly, perhaps on guard, and Nia smiled when it didn't shy away from the hand she offered.

"That's disgustin'!" bellowed Raph. His narrowed eyes were not fixed on Nia's smile, but the arachnid that crawled up her right sleeve.

"He's too small to cause any harm," she countered.

"I don't care. Kill it!"

"It doesn't deserve to be killed just because you're scared, Raph."

"I ain't scared; I'm disgusted!"

Nia deadpanned. "The mutant turtle that lives in the sewer is disgusted over a spider?" She received a heated glare, yet felt far from threatened. So, smiling again, she stopped the spider from crawling over her shoulder and walked past her boyfriend, who avoided her hand as if it were leprous.

Once at the kitchen's threshold, she cast a look over her shoulder. "You know, I wasn't convinced your phobia actually existed…but Mikey hasn't been exaggerating, has he?"

Raphael's eye twitched and he pointed an accusing finger towards his girlfriend. "I ain't got a damn phobia. I just don't like bugs!"

"Uh-huh."

"Why ain't ya killin' it?"

"Don't worry; I won't let it get you."

Giggling softly, Nia left the kitchen and crossed the silent living room towards the Lair's main entrance. The thick door groaned as it slid open and she stopped at the first tunnel bend after exiting. "Here you go, little guy," she said as the arachnid crawled from her hand onto the brick wall. "It's safer if you spin your home out here; ninja turtles can be dangerous."

Perhaps it was silly to joke with a spider. The thought didn't bother Nia, though. She just laughed. "Thanks for not running from me," she continued lightly. Waving it goodbye, she entered the Lair, secured the front entrance, and headed for the kitchen.

Raphael met her by the dining table, two bowls of cereal in hand, and grimaced at her grin. "Ya let it live," he grumbled, taking a seat.

Nia accepted the bowl he offered her then followed suit. "It's out of the Lair now."

"It could come back."

"Well, if you aren't scared then it doesn't matter, right?" Rather than acknowledge any more of his girlfriend's subtle ribbing, Raphael dug aggressively into his cereal, muttering incoherent words. Nia began eating as well, though at a slower pace and minus the hard chewing. "So…what are you doing up?"

Raph's attention shot up. "Eatin'," he managed to say with a full mouth.

"Y—you know what I mean," Nia retorted, swallowing before replying. "I was asleep when you guys returned from patrol. I thought you would've passed out by now."

"I did," answered Raph after taking another bite. "But I woke up hungry, so…Why are ya up? Shouldn't ya be convertin' yer sleepin' schedule for work on Monday?"

After a long sigh, Nia's spoon lowered from her lips into her bowl. "I tried. I went to bed soon after you guys left for patrol, but I guess I'm too much of a night owl. I just feel…restless."

"What time do ya gotta be there again?"

"Nine in the morning."

The mutant cringed. "Don't envy ya."

"Well, it—it's for a good cause," Nia added with a small smile. "The East Harlem Outreach Hotel feels a mural would be uplifting for the homeless who stay there. I know it doesn't pay, but that's okay. I—I'm just honored Hugh referred me to them…"

"Yer good at what ya do, Nia; it ain't surprisin'."

While the compliment may've been unintentional, a heat still spread across Nia's cheeks, forcing her to stare hard at the soggy bits floating in her milk. "Thanks, Raph…Um, how did patrol go? Did you guys find anything at Oswald Cybernetics?" The young woman noted with a frown how sour Raphael's face turned—his tell-tale sign that something had not gone as he had wanted.

"The damn place was a dead end," he answered lowly. "The only thing we discovered is that the thieves cleaned house. The company's missin' a lot 'a heavy, expensive equipment, which I ain't got a clue how they moved off the sixth floor. These guys are something else."

"I see," Nia said softly. Her boyfriend's grimace increased, yet she smiled as their eyes connected. "Don't worry, you'll find a lead. If there's one thing I know, it's that the persistence of the Hamato brothers won't leave them in the dark for long."

"Damn straight." Raphael smirked. "Are ya goin' ta bed after this?"

"I don't feel particularly tired…Why?"

"Uh, I was gunna ask if ya wanted ta watch a movie…or somethin'."

Nia gave a kind smile at the mutant's slight shrug. "What'd you have in mind?"

* * *

**Author's Notes: ***chuckles* Ah, Raph. You can't fool Nia. Anyways, review for the next chapter, folks! :)


	4. Father

**Author's Notes:** I would like to thank Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, and cocoagirl for the comments. Their reviews are what unlocked Chapter 4, so THANKS GUYS. :D cocoagirl, not yet. Feather, you have no idea... *cackles*  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 04 - ****Father**

Hamato Splinter drew in a steady breath—just as his son, Donatello, had asked of him. He released it with an equal amount of steadiness after a brief pause, and once the stethoscope's cool chestpiece was removed from between the breast fur beneath his kimono, he shuddered unwillingly. Doing so shot a sudden, sharp pain through the elder mutant's creaking bones, yet well-practiced skills disguised the discomfort from even Nia, who loyally stood by his seat in Donatello's brightly-lit lab.

"Nia-san," Splinter said, gripping tighter onto the hand she wrapped around his paw, "you are biting your lip."

"I'm sorry," responded Nia automatically.

"There is no need for worry, young one. It is a simple, routine check-up."

"Yes, but…" The human frowned. "You barely walk anymore." There was a tremble to her touch, a small pulse of familiar electricity. It was minor, though, and reminded the Ninjutsu master of just how much control his latest pupil had gained over the past month.

"My pains are nothing more than age catching up to an old rat," Splinter said, still smiling.

"Are you sure? H—how old are you, anyway? Uh…if you don't mind my asking." The young woman's head ducked in an instant, so the elder mutant used a paw to raise her chin.

"I am technically twenty-six years old," he answered when their gaze connected.

Her teal eyes widened. "Twenty-six? You mean…you're only three years older than the guys?"

"Yes." Splinter nodded. "But since I spent three years as an actual rat before mutating, physiologically, I'm more into my mid-fifties."

"That's so fast," whispered Nia, almost breathless. Her lips parted—no doubt in anticipation to ask more questions—yet closed, like some inner voice prevented her from continuing.

Splinter knew where her curiosity had been taking her, though, and he ran an aged paw over the top of her soft hand, saying, "Yes, it is. Typically, rats live two years—five to eight if they are from good blood. My Master Yoshi took excellent care of me, and I have been exceptionally fortunate."

"So…the very moment you mutated, you started aging like a human?"

The wizened rat's head shook. "Not immediately after. There was a period were our growth rate accelerated greatly, especially with our minds. However, it eased."

"I see…"

"Nia-san."

"Yes?"

A soft laugh escaped Splinter as the human stood at attention. "I know you like to show support by staying at our sides, and you meant to assist Donatello; however, you do not have to stay. I know you wish to see your parents."

"I—I do, but…" She bit her dark, bottom lip, gaze drifting to the genius a few feet away.

"Go, child. I am in good hands."

"But I told Donny I would—"

"Don't worry, Nia," injected Donatello. He kept his hunched form turned, so his attention remained on the massive amount of paperwork spread atop his metal desk. "I got things covered here. Thanks for your offer, though."

A long sigh confirmed how guilty Nia felt at leaving, although Splinter prompted a smile from her anyway. "Alright," she muttered. "I'll go. But I—I'll bring back some herbal tea from the organic store, okay?"

At the males' following nods, the human grinned brightly. She squeezed Splinter's paw softly before releasing it then waved goodbye as her feet quickly led her to the Lab's only exit.

Splinter sighed after the aluminum door closed with a loud click. Keeping a smile genuine was taxing enough, let alone when under the hard pressure of such an obviously-worried young woman.

"She's turning into a very affection person, isn't she?" Don asked. He had also watched Nia leave, and Splinter faced his son as the genius shook his head, as if unaware he had been staring at the unmoving door.

"Yes, she is," answered the elderly rat smoothly.

"It's strange; I never would've pegged her as that kind of person when she first arrived."

"Well, every day since then, more and more of Nia-san's true self has been exposed to us. I doubt even O'Neil-san knew of the tenderness in the young woman's heart. She has surprised us all."

"Not you and Mikey," Don added quite suddenly when he glanced over his cluttered table. "You both had faith in her since the beginning…"

Chuckling softly, Splinter smiled. "You have no reason for shame, my son. After all, when a master's body fails him, all he has left is his intuition. Yours will strengthen in time."

"Speaking of which"—the mutant turtle ceased his study of papers and twisted around, his brown eyes darkened by the slightest amount of distress—"have the Eucalyptus and Violets helped any?" Clearly, the genius' tone suggested he wanted the truth, no matter the answer, so Splinter gave a short grunt of resignation.

"Not by much," he answered. "They have eased the pain some, but…the constant ache remains."

"That doesn't make any sense," Don half-muttered. He began shifting through more papers, glancing between two sheets that were heavily riddled with black text. "If its arthritic, the swelling should have gone down. This means it's possibly something more…explains why it only worked partially…Sensei"—the purple-banded Chūnin spun and approached his father—"does the pain feel any different than it did before? Do you feel it in new places?"

This time, Splinter managed to bite back his sigh. "Yes."

"Where?"

"The discomfort has spread from my joints to my bones."

"Otōsan…" Donatello's whisper trailed off as the two's gaze met. "I'm taking a blood sample."

Without waiting for a reply, he headed for a tall cabinet in the Lab's back corner. A metallic crack rung loud as the middle drawer opened then closed, and Splinter eyed his son wearily when the self-proclaimed doctor returned with a pristine syringe in hand.

"I must know," said Don, stern. "We already agreed that if the oils didn't help, you wouldn't fight this."

"Yes…I know I did," the rat responded stiffly. He wanted to shy away from the rubber tie that Donatello also brought with him, yet Don grabbed a hold of him, keeping him still.

"Onegai, Sensei…"

"Very well." Splinter's words were laced with a disdain he could not fight, and never had offering his arm up felt so difficult. "Just…be quick."

* * *

Hugh Reese felt hot. No, he hadn't just completed a sprint to catch a suspect or rescued a kitten from a tree or even did anything remotely heroic that a New York Detective would accomplish. Rather, the stinging in his hands and knees reminded him that the heat in his veins stemmed from a very embarrassing situation involving Lennox Hill Hospital's revolving door and a weathered satchel that he apparently needed to keep a better eye on.

He'd already spent the better part of a minute on the cold floor, simply because wounded dignity wouldn't allow him to face the plump-figured nurse at his right or the surrounding patrons of the hospital's main entrance. However, he knew he couldn't stay there forever.

"Revolving doors will be the death of me, I swear," the African-American grumbled like a sour old man.

"Are you sure you're alright now, Sir?" the nurse beside him asked in an oddly scratchy voice.

Hugh, very politely, pushed her waiting arm away. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I—I didn't mean for you to fall forward like that," she continued. "When I went around the front to push the satchel's end through, I had no idea you were pulling so hard…or that you had managed to squeeze your body halfway through that crack."

"It's okay." The man spoke assuredly, but as he stood upright, he felt his face flush.

"I thought you were aware of what I was doing."

"I was just…preoccupied. It was my fault."

"Still, I feel bad."

"No need for that, really." Drawing in a deep breath, Hugh finally gained the courage to meet the nurse's persistent gaze. She had surprisingly soft features, considering her voice matched that of a fifty-year-old cancer patient, and he smiled in an attempt to ease her troubled frown. "Don't worry; I won't sue the hospital because I got stuck in my haste to enter."

"What? I didn't mean you would—I—" The nurse shook her head then stepped backwards, lifting her brown eyes to Hugh's strained smile. "If you want, I can allow you to use the automatic doors when you leave. We keep them turned off in the fall and winter because it lets in so much cold air."

"Like I said, it's alright," the detective insisted. By now the waiting patrons had returned to their own worlds, except that didn't make Hugh any less antsy to leave the open-planned room. The nurse looked like she would push the matter even further, so the man sidestepped her and began walking backwards towards the lobby elevators, saying, "I'll be satchel-free when I return since it's a gift for a friend. There's no need to pay me anymore mind. Thanks."

The woman approached, though Hugh turned his back on her at the chime of an opening elevator. After a young couple exited, the detective entered and promptly pushed the button that would close the metal doors. They did so as the nurse asked which room he was headed for. No matter; he no longer needed her guidance to know where that was anyway.

'_And if by the off-chance she happens to call security, I'll just explain myself. Simple stuf_f.'

The elevator soon announced Hugh's arrival at the fifth floor and before its doors fully opened the man was already taking long strides down the carpeted hallway lined with patient rooms and hanging art. He took the first left that came up then continued down the following hall until he reached a dead end, where he took another left.

He greeted two nurses along the way—one of which was seated at a nurse's station—and smiled once the white plaque with the black numbers '5—313' could be spotted at another dead end. The heavy door was left cracked three inches, but Hugh knocked on it out of consideration.

"Come in," a tried, gravelly voice said.

The detective wasted no time loitering and entered the patient room. "Hi," he greeted, glancing around the pristine area before facing the surly redhead that sat beside an occupied hospital bed. "How's Mia doing today, Gavin?"

"She's still in a coma, isn't she?" Gavin retorted in dry humor. It didn't take long for Hugh to notice the man's dark green eyes were lined with dark circles, which, when coupled with the redhead's slouched appearance, meant today he would be dealing with a sleep-deprived ex-rival.

'_Oh, happy days,_' thought Hugh as he walked towards a large window.

"Well," he started, clearly controlled, "some days she sleeps better than others, right? I haven't seen her since before Thanksgiving, on my day off. I just wanted to know if she's had any fevers recently."

"No," answered Gavin. He kept his unfocused gaze on his wife instead of the detective that turned from the room's grand window.

"That's good," Hugh part-way mumbled. Then, he sighed. "I know you don't particularly care, but I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit more often. The Commissioner's been assigning a lot of officers to the Little Red case, so only Blaine and I are helping Kyle Erlich with…Well, it's not officially a case, but I believe it has footing. We're the only ones, though; everyone else thinks we're wasting our time."

"So that's where all your resources are going?" Gavin sounded nauseously patronizing, yet Hugh somehow kept his eyes from rolling.

"Yes," the detective answered. "We've been busy tracking down leads. Mainly on our own time since the department is more interested in their new friend and want us to follow suit."

"_Bishop_."

Hugh nodded at the redhead's growl. "He's making relations in the right places. The rat's even weaseled funding for his organization at the expense of a few lesser-known grants that I personally see as more important. It's sad. Not a one of us can convince the others that looking into missing homeless folks is worth the effort, yet they treat him like a celebrity. Guess it just goes to show how entranced human kind is with the glamorous."

"That monster is _far_ from glamorous," snarled Gavin with a deep frown. His grip tightened on his wife's limp hand, and for a moment Hugh swore tears would fall from the redhead's eyes.

"Few realize that, though," Hugh noted dryly. "I can't even tell my best friend the truth. Changing your family's identities and moving you was difficult because of that—especially since I insisted everything be limited to paper and not the police database."

"Yes, our identities," Gavin remarked with a tinge of displeasure.

"What's wrong with them?"

"Carol is fine for Mia. Sarah is the name Nia wanted. But Melvin? You honestly couldn't have picked a better name?"

"What?" Hugh shrugged as nonchalantly as he could at the glare he received, given the fit of laughter he held back. "It was randomly picked from a baby name book and popular enough. Melvin Brown"—he almost lost the battle against the laughter—"isn't so bad. At least I didn't name you John Smith."

Gavin wasn't as amused, obviously, but he said nothing further as he turned back to his sleeping wife. Hugh sent him a playful smile he knew would be ignored then paused when something caught his eye. He immediately headed for a cubby shelf below a flat-screen television mounted on the wall opposing Mia's bed. There, he pushed aside a plastic bag full of clothes to fully reveal the foot-tall, stone figures that were barely detectable from across the room.

"These are the statues recovered from your house fire, right?" he asked with knitted brows.

"Yes," Gavin's replied flatly from behind.

"Why are they here? Shouldn't they be with Nia?"

"Well, Nia"—Gavin said his daughter's name with such reproach that Hugh's stomach lurched—"hasn't made up her mind about _where_ she wants to be. Sometimes she'll stay here, other times she'll stay with me at my new place in Upper West Side. But most of the time…"

"She stays with the Hamato brothers," finished the detective without question. Gavin's eyes narrowed the moment the mutants' family name was mentioned then glanced Hugh's way before returning to Mia's face.

"Seriously, get over that," Hugh commented while frowning.

"Get over what?" the redhead retorted. "The fact that a couple of _mutants_ support the idea of my only child hanging around in a _sewer_?"

"Not so loud!" hissed the taller man with a fierce glare. He strolled closer to Mia's bed side, ensuring the door was closed all the way. "Damn. Can you at least acknowledge they saved your daughter's life? _Twice_."

"I doacknowledge it. And I'm thankful. Regardless, the life they lead is _not_ one I want Nia to be a part of."

"She doesn't seem to mind. She's even told me that her claustrophobia has lessened because of their help."

"It's not a matter of what she minds. You aren't a father, so you wouldn'tunderstand." Pausing, Gavin turned his dark gaze to Hugh. "Fathers want a life for their children that's better than their own. I grew up in some of the worst conditions, so I know what it's like to have nothing. I don't want her living under streets; I want her living in a comfortable apartment, funded by a stable career. Instead, she seeks after art—one of the most unstable job choices—and prefers to spend time with mutants."

"Aren't you at least happy she has friends now?" questioned Hugh as an uncontrollable scoff racked his lean frame.

"I'm not upset that she has friends."

"Yes, you are. You're jealous!" How badly the detective wanted to shake the redhead silly. He knew giving into such an urge would worsen matters, however. So he resolved to take a calming breath before pointing a finger at the unconscious brunette in bed. "I bet if Mia could talk right now, she would tell us just how lonely Nia was before meeting the Hamatos. The girl probably didn't even realize it—not until she made friends, _real_ friends.

"When I debriefed her after the fire, I saw how _lost_ she felt. She wasn't simply sad or distraught. There wasn't an ounce of hope in her, so she was…falling. Is _that_ the life you want for your daughter? One in which she's left alone when you two _do_ die?"

"Get out," said Gavin after a long pause. His tone was low yet light and his gaze grew distant as if in a trance.

"Typical Gavin," Hugh spoke in disdain as the redhead laid his head on the bed, "not open to any views but his own."

With a deep sigh, the detective straightened up then headed for the exit. Saying goodbye would be a waste a breath, so he silently stalked forward. The door was ajar, strangely enough, but he halted for no more than a second before opening it and pulling it shut behind him with a loud 'thunk'.

In the hall, he froze at the figure that stood before him—a petite, black-haired female dressed in a quirky array of color. "Nia," he said, soft. Her teal eyes didn't meet his. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," she answered dully. Still, her vision didn't rise.

The man grimaced. "In that case, you know I got kicked out, so maybe you should talk with him instead." Shrugging, Hugh side-stepped to unblock the doorway. When Nia walked forward, he passed her, though he stopped before she could turn the doorknob. "Oh, hey."

She glanced over her shoulder, face void of any emotions.

"I got you something. Almost forgot about it."

"What it is?" she asked as Hugh's fingers slipped under the strap that crossed his chest.

"This"—the man removed then held out the leather satchel for the young woman to take—"I found it while at a pawn shop in one of my investigations. Don't ask me why, but it seemed like something you would like. It's a little more old-fashioned than the stuff you usually buy, but…"

"I love it," Nia said kindly. After running her fingers over a brass buckle on its front, she gave the man a quick hug then stepped back, slipping its long strap over her shoulder. "It's the perfect size to fit my art supplies I'll need for work."

"Thank goodness; it'll get some use." The man laughed a little, but frowned at the blank expression that remained on the young woman's face. "Hey, I'm sorry." He jutted his strong chin towards the room, though got the feeling doing so was redundant.

In return, Nia's dark lips formed a small, strained smile. "Yeah," she whispered dryly, gaze falling to the carpeted floor for a moment before returning to Hugh. "Well, Daddy's either going to get used to them…or disown me. Because I love them…and I don't want a life without them. Thanks again, Mister Hugh." With a light sigh and the same strained smile, the long-haired woman then nodded her leave to the detective and entered her mother's hospital room without another word.

As the door clicked shut, Hugh stared ahead silently, a deep frown on his face. '_Jeez…it doesn't seem fun being Gavin's daughter._'

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**Author's Notes:** Hugh is my love. Anyways, set-up is about complete. Next two chapters, the ball starts rolling. By chapter seven, it drops. So FOUR to FIVE reviews are needed to continue. ;D


	5. Missing Persons

**Author's Notes: **To Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, faeelfdragonmage, and D'Fuentes \- thank you for the reviews! And sorry about Gavin. Just...sorry. Apology will make sense later. Any-who, onto chapter 5, which you guys made possible. :D  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 05 - ****Missing Persons**

Dinner hadn't gone as terribly as Nia thought it would. Rather than winding up with a burnt array of mis-measured dishes in her hands, the young woman had been able to set the Lair's dining room table with plates of savory spaghetti squash, seasoned mashed potatoes, and crispy breaded chicken.

It had felt unnatural taking part of their creation, honestly. She still didn't believe her hands had a right to be near anything eatable—especially since the cookie incident.

However, Michelangelo's persistence she help cook for the clan had quickly worn down her resolve to keep away from the kitchen, and before she knew it, she had become a minion. Granted it was her best friend's intervention that kept the food from disaster, yet she still smiled proudly at the Hamatos that filed into the room from upstairs.

"I didn't burn anything!" she said excitedly. Her gaze focused more so on Raphael than Donatello or Leonardo, who each flashed mild dubious looks as they passed her on the stair's base.

"Well," Raphael started with a slight grimace, "my stomach recalls that yer worst batch 'a cookies also weren't burnt."

"Yes, I know, but this is—I mean it's—" The young woman loudly sighed while following her boyfriend to the dining table.

"Don't worry, Raphy Boy," noted Mikey, snickering, as the family found their seats. "I made sure to keep a close eye on her this time. I kept the salt from being dumped into the potatoes and the chicken from being overcooked cocoons. There was one close call, though…"

"Mikey, shush!" Nia whispered. She leaned over the table top where she sat crossways from the orange-banded ninja, between Don and Raph, and he tapped a finger against his chin in a teasing display of reminisce.

"What'd she almost do?" Leonardo sounded a little scared to know.

Defeated, Nia fell back into her seat with a groan as Mikey said, "I stopped her just in time to keep four tablespoons of Cayenne pepper from being mixed into the dry rub."

"Four tablespoons?" questioned Don, wide eyed.

"I thought it was the Paprika," Nia grumbled defensively.

"Even then," Leo added, "isn't four tablespoons…a little much?"

"The recipe was written down for a meal twice this size," Mikey replied, grinning.

"She forgot to take that into account, didn't she?" Don finished.

"Yup!"

Under the mutants' gazes, Nia felt her face grow hot. "I—It all checked out, okay? We even tried samples of the food beforehand. Now should I go get Mister Splinter?"

"There is no need for such, Nia-san; Michelangelo's laughter has called me to dinner." Chuckling, Splinter walked into view. His rigid movements went unmentioned yet not unnoticed by the young woman, and once he took a seat at the head of the table, he rested his cane against its edge. He grinned warmly at his children and Nia, though she barely met his dark eyes. "I am…proud that you keep trying, Nia-san," the mutant rat continued, almost stiff. "It is a blessing that you have Michelangelo to help you."

"Yes, Mister Splinter," Nia said. Clearly, the ninja master was trying to be respectful. Nia could tell if Mikey hadn't of vouched for her, Splinter would probably skip dinner altogether.

"I think she did great!" Michelangelo added with a firm nod. "Can we eat now?"

Silent, the group nodded. Nia's next actions followed those of the Hamatos as if on auto-pilot. They weren't as behind as the first few times she had been left alone to take part in the Japanese tradition. Nonetheless, she hesitated before placing her palms together ahead of her.

"Itadakimasu," everyone said in unison. Albeit Nia emphasized the foreign words inaccurately and bowed her head at the wrong time—again—Splinter still sent her a kind smile.

"So, Nia-san," he started as everyone began to eat, "how was your first day of work?"

"Oh, it—it was…alright," answered Nia, stabbing her fork into her slender piece of breaded chicken. Of course, Splinter wouldn't accept such a vague explanation, and even though her attention remained fixed on her dinner plate—only sensing his gaze—she sighed in submission. "I—I thought I would be fine," the young woman started grimly. "I've grown so used to being around you guys that—that I forget how terrible…I am…at first impressions. I thought maybe I had gotten over the awkwardness, but it all came flooding back."

"It couldn't have been that bad," remarked Mikey, mouth full of potatoes.

Nia grimaced at his smile. "Aside from the fact that I kept forgetting my alias is Sarah Brown, for the first five minutes I met my new boss, I could only speak in facts…"

"You know a lot of interesting art trivia," Donny stated. The genius swallowed his food calmly, though Nia swore he wanted to laugh. "I'm sure your boss was…intrigued."

"He greeted me and I told him Grandma Moses lived until the age of a hundred and one."

"But you eased up, right?"

"He stared at me blankly, holding the hand I was trying to shake, before laughing it off like a joke. When I tried to explain myself I wound up telling him Leonardo Da Vinci invented high heels."

"He did?" asked Leo, an eye ridge arched.

"An' who's Grandma Moses?" Raph added in a muffled voice.

"I—I said these things ri—right at the entrance of the hotel," Nia continued. Her face heated up like a light bulb, and she picked her chicken apart as images of confused homeless patrons and new co-workers washed over her memory.

"And yet you worked your full shift. Correct, Nia-san?" Slowly, the pale female twisted towards Splinter at the table's head. When she nodded under his gentle gaze, then he went on to say, "Things must not have gone as dreadful as you felt, young one. Your new boss must be a gifted judge of character."

"And patient," injected Raph.

Nia flashed her boyfriend a look.

"So," Donatello started, "who is your employer, exactly?"

"He must be pretty cool if he treated your nervous tick like something fun," noted Michelangelo. The two youngest Hamatos grinned.

"Well"—Nia spoke softly—"by the time I told him Andy Brown had crafted a portrait of Queen Elizabeth the Second by sewing together a thousand used tea bags, he eased up more than when he greeted me. U—um, his name is George Baker. He looks to be in his early fifties with an easy smile, and he—he clearly loves his cause. Even within the short time I was there, I saw him speak with volunteers and homeless attendees that came through like they were close family."

"George Baker," Don parroted, taking another bite of his meal. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"We—well, East Harlem Outreach Hotel is one of the most notable homeless shelters in New York," Nia said. "According to Mister Baker, anyhow. He founded it twenty-years ago. Or—or fifteen. So—something like that. It's been slow to establish since his aim differs from normal homeless shelters and thus isn't granted as much Federal funding."

"What's so different about it?" Leo questioned.

Nia flashed him a small smile. "He didn't explain it in full, but…he said his hotel is an alternative living style for the homeless, not a place where they crash for the night. It's a means for them to feel honestly helped, so they can learn self-worth all over again or for the first time. He said to me, 'You don't place a band-aid over a gaping wound, you stitch it up first. That takes careful work, and I'm willing to do that work. Not many others agree with me, though. They'd rather stick with the band-aid since it's easier. Which do you think is better, Miss Brown?'"

"What'd ya say ta him?" At some point, Raphael had ceased eating, and now both of his large hands lay beside his nearly-cleared plate. He studied his girlfriend behind curious amber eyes that left a silly grin on the human's pale face.

"I, uh…" She began wringing the wide hem of her panda-print sweater with her fingers. Her attention averted for a moment then resettled on Raph. "I replied without much thought, honestly. I told him the wound would never heal if it's not properly treated. It isn't right to let it bleed o—or grow infected. Those who barely pay it any mind are heartless…and selfish."

"That is very true, Nia-san," added Splinter.

"He—he smiled at me," the young woman continued, soft. "He didn't say anything more about the matter afterwards and instead brought me to the inside wall he wanted me to…paint."

"Eh?" Mikey barely caught Nia's attention. "Was something wrong with the wall?"

"Not the physical wall…"

"Ya gotta explain it better than that," Raph remarked with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Even when she faced the red-banded mutant, she couldn't force a smile. "What's wrong?"

"The wall," started Nia lowly. "It's at least forty feet long, maybe nine feet high, and it had been plastered with missing person posters. I—I had felt my stomach drop when I realized what they were. Mi—Mister Baker explained that ever since he opened the hotel, he's been keeping track of who comes…and who goes."

"Then those posters are all of homeless people?"

With a small sigh, Nia nodded towards Michelangelo. "People who he's tried to help, yes. I—I spent a lot of my shift taking the posters down. He told me to pile them until he figures out where else to place them. Said while it's important to remember the people out there, he wanted to showcase something more positive for those who remained…"

"How many are missing?" Leonardo asked.

"Over three hundred," the human answered. "I stopped counting by then."

"That—that's insane," remarked Mikey after a brief yet heavy pause.

"If some of those date back to the early nineteen-nineties than there must be a lot of cold cases listed," Leo noted, grim.

Nia's stomach churned as she caught the Jonin's gaze. "Very few of them are cases at all, actually. Most posters were made by Mister Baker himself."

"Ya mean the police ain't lookin' for most 'a them?" There was a snarl to Raphael's question, one which Nia could understand.

"The police told him that homeless folks were bound to disappear. It's a fact of life and he should accept it. So far, only Hugh's police friend, Kyle Erlich, has been pushing the NYPD to accept more homeless cases."

"Figures," the hothead grumbled.

"Nia-san"—Splinter spoke as Raphael polished off the rest of his meal with one, aggressive mouth full—"how do you feel in such an environment?"

"Ho—honestly?" the young woman questioned. She received a patient nod. "It feels…weird. Like—weird. Then again, a lot of things have started to feel weird in the past month."

"How so, young one?"

Nia frowned, saying, "Well…ever since October, I haven't had any migraines. But now it's as if something else has taken their place. It—it's nothing painful—really, guys—just…off. It's more unsettling when I'm around others, and by now I can't really ignore it.

"I—I guess you could call it a gut feeling? A vibe? Or something. For example, Mister Baker _seems_ like someone who pours his soul into his cause, but as he talked about it, it—it was as if the love and sorrow he harbors behind his optimism settled into me—so much so that I found myself _convinced_ the care wasn't something I could assume, it was something I _knew_. Its—" Pausing, the teal-eyed female observed the round of looks she was given by the seated Hamato clan. "I—I know it sounds…"

"What it _sounds_ like, Nia-san," interjected Splinter coolly, "is that you have another side in need of exploration. Do you wish to meditate with me after our meal?"

Nia couldn't nod fast enough. "I—I should, now that it's…intensifying. Thank you, Mister Splinter."

"Of course," the mutant rat replied in refrained amusement. "Now"—his whiskers twitched as he smiled—"how about you actually take your first bite?"

* * *

A winter-clothed Michelangelo flashed a wide smile at his friend Hugh through a sheet of foggy glass. "Hey!" he said as he steadied his hunched body in the wide berth of a redbrick windowsill set two stories high.

"What are you doing?" Hugh questioned, stiff. His tall form—wrapped snug in a cotton t-shirt and sweatpants—was bent nearly in half for his voice to be heard, unobstructed, through the open window. Mikey couldn't understand why he didn't step aside so the mutant could enter the heated spare bedroom.

"What's it look like? Can I come in? I can see my breath."

"Oh, God." Pausing, the African-American ran a stretched hand down his dark face. "I was really just expecting a confused bird pecking at the glass."

"I'm better than a bird."

"Michelangelo—"

"Please, Hugh?" The orange-banded turtle gave his best puppy dog pout in what little light crept into the room from the hallway. Even so, Hugh shook his head of tight curls.

"I gave you my home address so you could contact me in case of an emergency," he said, "not drop by unannounced at ten at night."

"But this is an emergency!" Huffing into the crocheted scarf that swallowed half his head, Mikey leaned closer towards the frigid glass, saying, "Come on. Leo's been meditating for hours, Splinter's sleeping, Donny kicked me out of his lab, and Nia and Raph are on a _date_."

"What's with the air quotations?"

"I say date, but he probably just took her to a rooftop. Again." The Chūnin rolled his eyes. "That guy needs a serious romance intervention if he wants Nia to stick with him."

"Will you please keep your voice down?"

"Why are you whispering anyway?"

"Because this is my house and I'm married. You really think I'm alone?"

"I thought you mentioned something about Marina working a different shift tonight."

Pausing, the dark-skinned human gave his mutant friend a long, disbelieving stare. "Damn," he said under his breath, "you have a good memory. I just mentioned her schedule once and that was two days before Thanksgiving."

"So?" Mikey shrugged and Hugh sighed.

"Sorry, but some things have changed. Marina and I have…company."

"Aw, that sucks," the youngest Hamato mumbled without much thought. At the man's half-annoyed-half-sympathetic smile, though, he forced himself not to sound so bummed. "Sorry. I just wanted to see if we could brainstorm a little mystery my bros and I are investigating."

"That's alright," Hugh replied lowly. "I wish they weren't here myself; at least, not under current conditions."

"Why?"

"Hugh! For heaven's sake, _what_ are you doing?" A sudden, loud voice prevented any sound from leaving Hugh's open mouth. The human stood upright within a millisecond, crowding the window to keep the ninja on the other side obscured; however, Mikey had already moved out of view and gripped onto the nearest lip of the town house's stacked stone structure as if his fingers were super glued to the rough texture. "Geeze, there you are," the feminine voice continued. "What was that noise?"

"It was just a bird, Rina," Hugh said far more easily than the mutant would've expected.

"Then why are you still in here? Jen's losing it."

"So—sorry, honey. I got…lost in thought. I'll be right there."

"If you say so. Blaine looks ready to tear out of here at any given minute."

"Make sure he doesn't. I'll be right out."

There was a short, harsh sigh as a pair of footsteps left the room. Only after a moment of silence did Michelangelo return to his perch, a deep frown on his face when Hugh bent down again.

"What's wrong?" asked the ninja genuinely.

Hugh sucked in a deep breath. "My best friend and his wife came over. I don't have the full story yet, but apparently their seven-year-old daughter is missing. Look, Mikey, I'm sorry; you gotta go."

"Wait!" Michelangelo slipped his hand under the lower sash's rail before it could close and pushed it back up. "Kidnappings are actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"We don't know if it's kidnapping yet," the human said with a huff.

"Then go find out. I want to stay for the story."

"That may not be the best idea; you shouldn't be here with company."

Mikey flashed Hugh a look. "Dude, I'm a ninja. Staying hidden is my nature."

"Fine, knock yourself out," said Hugh as he backed away from the open window. He threw his long arms up in surrender. "I can't say when or if they'll leave, so I may not come back."

"That's alright."

Michelangelo barely managed to squeeze himself into the room—especially since his puffed winter coat added a good amount of bulk onto his already-wide figure—but a little wiggling went a long way. Once inside, he flashed his human friend a smile before giving two thumbs-up. Hugh, however, was quick to leave the space, a grimace on his prominent lips.

'_He's really worried about his friend's family,_' Mikey thought as he neared the cracked door that no longer glowed with light. '_Usually, it takes no effort at all to make him smile…Oh, woah!_'

A sudden, pungent scent tickled the mutant's sinuses, causing him to cringe at its overpowering nature. He felt like sneezing or even coughing, and he had to blink wildly before his senses could adjust to the stench. It was cigarette smoke, he soon realized—an unhealthy amount of it for someone not accustomed to being around a smoker.

Through the fluorescent haze of lights at the end of a rather short hallway with a staircase on one side, the ninja spotted a gray cloud dancing around four figures in a sitting room. Its origin stemmed from a pacing blonde male that had dressed in a long trench coat and pajama bottoms. His right hand was kept close to his mouth as he continuously blew out puff after puff, and he didn't pay the women on the red couch any mind, even when they would fan the smoke away.

"Blaine," one of the women—a slender blonde whose locks of slightly curly hair fell in distressed knots over her wide shoulders—spoke up, "Marina gave you permission to light a few, not enough to peel the paint off the walls."

"It's alright, Jennifer," the second woman said, a frown on her tanned, middle-aged face. She kept an arm wrapped snug around the waist of the blonde woman's open parka and followed the smoker with her dark eyes.

"Well, Ithink he should cut back," added Hugh from a place Mikey couldn't see. "You're choking out my wife."

Pausing by the couch, Blaine rolled his neck then turned to a metal coffee table part-way hidden from view. He bent down, probably to put out his cigarette in an ash tray, and the tan woman, Hugh's wife, gave a light sigh of relief as he straightened up.

"Now," continued Hugh, "could you explain what happened?"

"Oh, you mean _before_ you went to check on a lost bird for ten minutes?" asked Blaine sorely. The second male turned towards the sitting room section that was cut off from view by the hall, glaring, so Michelangelo found it safe to assume that was the area where his friend stood.

"Blaine," Jennifer said in a testy tone. Just from her voice one could tell how tired she must've felt.

"When did you last see Kaiya?" Marina questioned.

"Wh—when we sent her off to bed," answered Jen, breath hitching. "She…she and Blaine had fought."

"About what?"

Blaine's scoff drew the other's immediate attention. "She got suspended from school for attacking another student." Though his back was turned towards the upper stair railing on the left, the mutant would guess the man glowered in disproval.

"Seriously? Why?" This time, Hugh had spoken up, and Jennifer craned her long neck towards his hidden form.

"Because the boy was ridiculing her supernatural beliefs," she replied. "They were"—she let out a shaky breath—"They were talking about last Halloween. With the statement Commissioner Powell gave about that Bishop fellow, Kaiya's convinced the so called 'Hollow's Eve Demon' is real."

"I've told Jen to _stop_ letting those stories warp her mind!" cried Blaine with a heavy stomp of his boot. "Bishop is—insane—and the Commissioner is even more so for believing him. Aliens, ghost, demons, mutants—_none_ of that stuff exists. Right, Hugh?"

"Uh"—the detective paused under his friend's heated gaze—"I believe the world has a few twists in it."

"You would," Blaine grumbled, sighing. "It's unhealthy for her to believe in such things, but she won't set them aside."

"Blaine, she's seven," Jennifer interjected heatedly as she scooted herself part-way off the couch cushion. "I keep telling you to just let her imagination roam."

The father approached her within a single, harsh step then leaned down to meet her gaze. "That _imagination_ of hers has kicked her out of a bookstore, risked hypothermia, put her allowance to poor use, and now gotten her suspended. She can'tgo on like that, Jen!"

"But forcing her to stay away from what she loves doesn'thelp!" the mother retorted. Her voice broke into a sob that hindered her next words, "That's why she's run away!"

Marina welcomed the sobbing blonde into her arms. "So this isn't kidnapping," she noted, glancing at her friend, who clung tightly to the loose sleeves of the tanned woman's sleeping shirt. "Kaiya ran away."

"Y—Yeah," Blaine answered with great difficulty. "I went to check on her at nine, but—but she wasn't in her room. We started looking around the block for her then came here."

"And you found no clues?" asked Marina.

"No…"

With a sudden jolt, Jennifer sat upright, her attention set on Hugh. "I told him to call the precinct or FBI already, but he insisted on coming here instead!" she screamed near the top of her lungs.

"It's only been a little over an hour, Jen; she couldn't have gotten far," Hugh replied in a calm voice.

"You think that matters?" the mother retorted bitterly. She rose from her seat and the only thing that kept her from storming to the other side of the room was Marina's tight grip on the blonde's gloved hand. "She's just a little girl! Do you know what _sick_ _bastards_ out there _do_ to little girls?"

"Believe me, I _know_!" countered Hugh with control now lost. Still, he didn't enter Mikey's line of sight. "Blaine and I will handle this. If we come up empty handed by morning, we'll file a report with our precinct. Maybe Kyle can help."

"And what about us?" Marina added with a glare.

"You and Jen should go back to my place," answered Blaine. "In case she comes home."

Jennifer looked ready to counter her husband's idea wholeheartedly, except Marina, pulling herself up, wrapped the woman in a tight hug, whispering something into her mess of curly hair that Michelangelo couldn't hear. Gradually, the blonde's tense form grew lax, her angry expression melting into a look of utter despair that had the mutant's stomach in knots.

When Jennifer returned the hug, Hugh stepped into sight. He had already slipped into a trench coat very similar to Blaine's, though shorter, and gave the two women a peck on the cheek before walking away again.

Like Hugh had said, he wouldn't be returning, so Mikey straightened in his hiding spot as the adults refined a little more detail to their plan. What he didn't expect was the bedroom door opening like some cheesy horror film.

'_Aw, hell!_' he thought while dodging behind said door.

With one strong, silent leap, he scaled the darkest corner of the room to position himself as high to the ceiling as possible, away from any light that filtered through the closed window or drifted in from the sitting room down the hall. His muscles screamed from strain under his weight—mainly because he hadn't had time to whip out his shuko from inside his coat—and he grimaced as his six fingers slipped bit by bit down the painted dry wall. Cursing, his blue eyes followed the short figure that wandered into the room—a child dressed in a nightgown. She rubbed her face in the crook of a chubby arm before glancing around the still area.

"Mister Phantom?" she asked, voice filled with sleepiness. Her thick locks of yellow blonde hair stuck out in every which direction and resembled a bushy helmet that must have prevented her from seeing clearly. "Mister Phantom, where you go?"

Another inch, he slipped more. '_Come on, leave, little one. Leave._'

"Mister?"

A half inch slip. '_Please, leave._'

"Mister Phantom?"

"Megan, why are you up?" asked Jennifer. In a matter of seconds, the tall blonde entered the spare bedroom, approaching her child that had meandered to the center of the room.

The little girl looked up at her mother. "I saw phantom," she answered with a lisp in her high voice.

"Megan." Jennifer kneeled and immediately gathered Megan into her arms. "Please. Don't do this to mommy. Not now. Let's get you back to bed." The mother didn't pause for a reply before turning around, and Megan remained silent, though the frown Mikey noted on her pale face as the humans left convinced the mutant he had been seen after all.

'_Great,_' he thought as he dropped to the carpeted floor, silent. 'T_hat's something I'm leaving out when I tell the others about this…Now, to get home._'

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And the plot thickens. What's up with Nia? And all these missing persons? To find out, review! Four to five of them and Chapter Six: Lead will be posted!


	6. Lead

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, and D'Fuentes, who made this chapter possible! LOVE THE INPUT!  
ssj2luke - Think there's tension between the new couple now? Just wait...  
D'Fuentes \- For the longest time, April thought Nia WAS on the autism spectrum. LOL. She takes a while to warm up. You'll see more of her caring and worrying side soon. ;) Raph needs to learn to be careful with his words. It's a lesson he'll learn the _hard_ way...ANY WHO. Moving on!  
**Warning:** Slight intense language near the end. Blaine's not a happy father right now...  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 06 - ****Lead**

The harsh, penetrating gaze of Hunter Mason couldn't be withstood by the fainthearted. No. Those who worked directly under the Purple Dragon leader were to be stronger than that, yet not so strong—at least in their minds—that they would dare question his orders or betray his absolute authority. The very steps he took around Head Quarters were to be respected and feared, and that expectation oozed from his presence like acid even as he sat poised in a sturdy chair of steel and posh leather.

Before him—beyond a polished Hickory desk that sat nearly two feet away—stood three figures. Each one of these shadows was part-way hidden amongst the intense darkness at the back of his grand office, though not for intimidation or style; it's simply where the three had ceased walking when they entered the unlit room from the hallway.

"Report," Hun commanded sternly. The blonde giant kept his large arms crossed, and while the figures' faces may've been hidden by long, geometric shadows cast from the streetlamps outside a wall of windows, he ensured they felt the full gravity of his glare.

"Yes, Sir," a deep bass voice replied, monotonous. The figure on the far right—the leanest yet not the tallest of the three—stepped forward while remaining in the dark. "Purple Dragon members Claw, Fang, Skunk the Second, Bam-Bam, and Sharptip have yet to be recovered. News of their whereabouts is still unknown."

"Unknown?"

"Yes, Sir."

Hun felt his jaw clench. "And how many more losses have we had since Sunday?"

"Two, Sir. Batter's been missing since then and Wildknife went missing earlier tonight."

"Fools!" snarled the gang leader like a cornered lion. Instinctually, he wished to kick his heavy desk in their direction, smashing their shady forms into the painted cinderblocks behind them; however, he knew these three were not the kind that would be so easily affected by such actions. Not anymore. So, taking a deep breath, he asked, "Tell me, what was the purpose of my investment in you if you can't do a more thorough job than Dragonface?"

"In all due respect, Sir," a second, raspier voice, started, "we _are_ better."

"Yes, Dragonface has done nothing, except meander from search group to search group like he's supposedly doing something," the third and final voice chimed. The tall, bulky figure at the center took two steps ahead, closer towards the soft light, although the smallest of the three brought him back into line with a single touch.

"We're more constant and systematic than he is," the bulky figure said. "We're…designed that way. If there's a clue out there, _we'll _find it. The others aren't of much use."

"Yeah; members are growing paranoid," the leanest figure added simply.

"Then see to it they don't cower," Hun hissed darkly as he smacked the top of his desk. "Anyone who wavers is liable for an accident, and those who think they can stand against the Purple Dragons without being burnt is delusional. You let them know that. Now…" Leaning further back into his metal throne, the blonde king raised his strong chin, frowning. "I want one of you to patrol Mid Town along with Rojo and Little Spice."

There was a snuffled groan from the group's middle.

"_Enough_!" Hun snapped. "I don't care how you feel about her. She's part of Project-C. You each have your next targets set, so I suggest you get to them before sunrise. Understood?"

Slowly, the group nodded then bowed.

"Good. You're dismissed. Oh, and one more thing"—pausing at the open door, the trio turned towards their growling boss, who slammed the edge of his giant fist down like sledgehammer against his desk—"tell someone to fix the damn breakers already!"

* * *

A light smirk crept its way along Leonardo's wide mouth. He didn't bother fighting it, nor did he say anything to draw attention to himself. Instead, the Jonin kept quiet, leaning against the narrow, brick doorjamb with his eyes fixed on Nia's back as she talked quietly to herself within her small room.

It'd been well over three minutes, and the animated human still hadn't noticed the mutant's presence. To and fro she went, grabbing little things from cloth bags and the back wall. It wasn't until she turned around to grab something on a shelf near Leo's head that a jolt turned her rigid. Silent, she jumped in a tight circle, biting her lip to keep her voice contained.

"Why do you ninjas _do_ that?" she questioned once collected.

Leonardo smiled at her startled expression. "It's part of the job."

"Well, it freaks me out," the young woman grumbled, placing a hand over her heart.

"We need to work on your perception," Leo teased as Nia took a statue down from its perch—the same statue she had brought to the Lair when she first arrived in September. The pale human deadpanned before returning to her cot. "For us, stealth is a way of life," he continued. "It can only help if you learned a few pointers as well."

"I—I'm not made for fighting," said Nia lowly. Her petite hand paused above her full backpack before zipping it.

"I'm not saying you should be or have to be," retorted the blue-banded mutant. "But if you want, we could teach you a few things—basic skills to keep you safer. They're nothing violent; they just…expand your senses."

Smiling over her shoulder, Nia gave a soft laugh that echoed with nervousness. "I see. Well, I—I don't know how great I would be at it…But thanks, Leo. I'll think about it."

"Good." Pushing off the doorjamb, Leonardo approached the short human, peering over her shoulder as she stuffed yet another article of clothing into a side pocket of her backpack. She paused after that, probably to check a mental list for what remained. Leo couldn't fathom what else required attention; the room had nearly been stripped of the artist's personal touches and the large backpack on her cot looked ready to burst.

She had already changed into her own quirky array for the day, which included a pair of teal Converse pulled over the narrow hem of some loose-fitting, light-wash jeans with just enough rips on the upper thighs for her red and purple paisley-print tights to shine through. In addition to those, she had slipped on an off-shoulder sweater that reached beyond her wide hips over a layer of teal fishnet.

Somehow, the Jonin felt its pale red color had been a nod to his hotheaded brother. He shook his head—smiling at the thought—then glanced around as Nia picked something up off the concrete floor. The sight before him left a small stone in the Jonin's stomach, and he frowned when his attention graced the human.

"So," he started, slow, "did you get any sleep last night? It's not even six."

"Well…" Nia part-way twisted her head towards the mutant. "I said night and bye to you guys around midnight then stayed up with Raph a little longer. We went to bed around one then I got up at five to pack."

"That's only four hours of sleep."

The female sighed. "I know, I know. And I can feel it. But it takes almost two hours to walk to Harlem from here, and I couldn't help feeling like I would forget something while packing, so…W—wait, why are _you_ up? Are the others up too?"

"No, it's just me," Leo answered with a shake of his head. "I, uh…I guess I wanted to see if you were really packing."

"What do you mean?"

The Jonin was forced to take a quick step back when Nia faced him fully, cocking her head of long, frazzled hair. For a brief moment, his words failed him, yet he spoke through the slight awkwardness, saying, "I mean you don't have to take _everything_ from the Lair that's yours. You want to stay with your father in Columbus Square because it's a much shorter walk to the Outreach Hotel, but I—_we_ don't have plans to revert this space back into a weapons closet. I, uh"—he cleared his throat—"I know it isn't the most grand place. Still, this is your space now. You can keep whatever you want here, and on your days off, you're more than welcome to stay. You know that…right?"

Something strange glazed over Nia's teal eyes by the time Leonardo finished speaking. The ninja couldn't quite place the distant emotion, though her warm smile reflected a great amount of gratitude. After a light giggle, she collected her thoughts with a few rapid blinks.

"Thanks, Leo," she whispered before raising her voice. "It's a little tricky—you know?—figuring out…things. I—I may be dating Raph, but that doesn't give me a right to intrude on your home now that it's safe to be Topside again. Daddy made a point that it's kind of, uh…whorish of a woman to live with her boyfriend after just three weeks."

Suddenly, rigidly, Leonardo grimaced. "He called you a whore for staying with us?" he asked, barely succeeding in keep a controlled tone.

"What?" Nia's voice squeaked. "N—no. He didn't actually _call_ me that. He just means it's not proper for a lady. H—he's a little old-fashioned when it comes to me, but that's just because he tends to worry a lot. I'm his only child, after all."

"Still"—Leo spoke carefully through his clenched jaw—"he should trust you more than that."

"Oh, he trusts me. He just doesn't trust—" With a bite of her tongue, as if shamed, Nia drew back, clenching the hem of her long sweater.

'_Of course,_' thought Leonardo grimly. He tried to keep the young woman's gaze, yet it fell to the side. '_Saving your daughter doesn't mean anything, does it, Gavin? You hate not being the only hero in her life and will say anything to force her close. You don't seem to be warming up to mutants, either. I swear, if he wasn't Nia's father…_'

What? What would he do differently? Nothing, save for maybe ignoring the man completely. All he could hope for at this point was that the Hamatos' influence in Nia's life would one day touch the redhead—nothing more.

"I understand he's your father," Leo started after a silent moment. "I respect my father as well. However, I will say there's no way you could ever seem whorish Nia, not even if you tried." The Jonin kept his stare stern and even like his stance. The black-haired human faced him with some difficultly, which told him the roundabout comment hadn't settled as well with her as she pretended it did. So, he eased his frown into a smile and loosed his muscles, saying, "Just remember you don't have to lug that huge monster"—he pointed towards the backpack—"all around Manhattan. Unless…those are your weekend necessities?" To his relief, the little joke earned him a soft giggle.

"Guess I can put a few things back," Nia said, also smiling. She turned to the pack then unzipped it.

"You have your Shell Cell, right?" Leo asked as she pulled out items.

"Ye—yes," the human answered. A happy beat in her tone told Leonardo his friend still felt excited over Donatello's gift.

"Make sure you keep it on hand," the Jonin continued. "With the increase of kidnappings we keep hearing about, you should take extra care. I know you aren't a runaway like that Williams girl Mikey told us about or homeless like Ernie's girlfriend. But it doesn't hurt to be safe. If you got off work after sundown instead of four, one of us could have escorted you to your father's place this week."

Nia giggled. "If it's all the same, I think I've had enough of the kidnapping business."

"Me too. That's why you should carry it within easy reach."

"I will."

"If you want one of us to come get you, call."

"Of course."

"And remember the panic button."

"Leo!" By now, Nia was smiling widely, laughing, but Leo had meant every word to be serious.

"What?" he asked with a shrug of his strong shoulders. She just shook her head, returning to her backpack. For a short moment, both remained quiet—until Nia paused in her task.

"Um, L—Leo? Can I…ask you about something?" The woman didn't face him, but he nodded anyway. "I—I—It's kind of embarrassing," she added softly. "And maybe kinda silly since I've only been here three months. Well, two, technically, since for that _one_ month I was…you know. Um, but, uh—"

"Nia." Placing a hand over the arm Nia seemed so adamant to rub raw, Leonardo caught the human's attention. "Don't be nervous."

Slowly, Nia nodded, yet sighed all the same. "But…You know how terrible I am with pronouncing Japanese, right?" She waited for his careful nod. "I know I keep forgetting punctuation, but I still _want_ to learn more about the culture that's shaped you guys. I—I've been curious for a while, since—since I started dating Raph. I didn't want to ask him, though…"

"Why not?" Leonardo questioned, eye ridges furrowed.

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Because you lead," she answered simply. Then, the nervousness resettled. "Yo—you're the clan head, so if I could…uh, gain a green light from _you_ then I knew…it would be okay."

"Nia," Leo stated, even, "you've traded your life for my brother before. Whatever you want, I'm sure it's fine."

But despite the assurance, Nia hesitated before replying. "Now I don't mean for this to be an immediate thing," she said quickly. "It's more like a 'what if' situation because I—I don't know what life holds in store for Raph and I in the future. But I guess even if something happened, I would still be friends with the rest of you, so maybe this is being a little—"

"_Nia_." Leonardo gave his friend a pointed look.

"Right, sorry." Drawing in a deep breath, she continued, "I—I wanted to know how I would address you guys in Japanese if…I wanted to call you my brothers. I—I've noticed Donny sometimes calls April 'ah-knee', 'Annie', um—"

"Onēsan."

"Oh…oh…"

Leonardo gave a silent laugh and ensured his next words were pronounced clearly, "Oh-neh-sahn."

"On-ah-sahn?"

"Close. You can practice." He smiled. "It means 'older sister'."

Nia's brows furrowed. "I see…so that's what you call big sisters in Japanese?"

"That's what you call your own big sister in Japanese," Leo said. "When you're addressing her directly. Otherwise, you refer to them as 'Anē'. If the sister is younger, then 'Imōto' is used, but not as an address. If you want to just say sisters as in a noun, you would say 'shimai'."

"Well…What about when you refer to someone else's sister?"

"If you know their name, then you simply use that with the proper honorific. If you don't know their name, then you would ask for it. But I'm not going to dump any phrases on you right now."

"Ugh, the Japanese have a different term for _everything_," the pale young woman grumbled miserably.

"It's tricky for outsiders to grasp, I admit." She groaned, though Leo still smiled at her. "These aren't terms to be taken likely, either. The only reason April is referred to as a sister is because she's grown so close to us. In Japanese culture, you don't address your close friends as family. It's just not done. Depending on the situation, you would say their nickname before the honorific 'chan', which is a term of close endearment. You've probably heard Mikey call April 'Onēchan' or 'Nēchan', instead of 'Onēsan'."

"Wait!" Straightening up, a look of refrained dismay washed over Nia's face. "Now there's different _ways_ you can address a sister?"

"The Japanese have several honorifics," answered the Jonin with a sympathetic grin.

"Oh, I'll _never_ get the hang of this!" Nia lamented, falling onto her cot. Her body lay arched over the clothes, art supplies, and miscellaneous décor she had unpacked, yet she paid them no mind, gaze glued on the ceiling.

"Give it time, Nia," Leonardo added as she sighed, "you will. To answer your question: in general, you would call us by our nicknames with the term 'Onīsan' attached at the end because there are three of us, not one."

"For 'older brother', right? And if you were younger…"

"Same as if we were little sisters. Our nicknames then 'chan'**."**

"What about twins?"

"Huh?"

"What do they call each other?"

"It would depend on the twins' family, whether they were formal or not. It's unlikely but possible they would give one another unique nicknames."

"All of this wasn't unique _enough_?" The human ran both hands down her face, and Leo chuckled again.

"April had a hard time with it, too. It's why she doesn't use it very often."

"But—But I _want_ to."

"Then it will get easier." Slowly, teal eyes fell on the blue-banded turtle. They lingered on his face, void of emotion for only a moment before their owner mirrored his small smile.

"Well, as the artist says 'practice, practice, practice,' right?"

Leo nodded. "I couldn't agree more. And about addressing us—"

"Oh, don't worry," Nia interjected while returning to her feet, "I—I'm not going to start calling you that yet."

"I don't mean—"

Nia held up a hand, the soft yet somewhat solemn expression on her face causing Leo's mouth to shut. "April can call you brothers because she's earned the right. I feel like I can call you my friends, my _good_ friends. You and Mister Splinter both call me 'Nia-san'—him more so than you. I can see Mikey starting to call me 'Nia-chan', now that I think about it. If sun—"

"Sahn."

"If '_san_' is how I'm supposed to address you as friends then I want to use that for now. I feel like I've earned that much. But I'm not a sister…not yet. Still, one day"—her smile grew—"one day I hope to be."

That was an honest wish, Leonardo could sense so clearly, and at the human's anxious wait for approval, he nodded respectfully. "When you feel that time has come," he said calmly, "we'll be here."

"Thank you."

"Arigatou."

"Are-ree-gat-too."

Leo repressed his urge to laugh as Nia snapped her fingers than pointed his way. "Close enough." He cleared his throat when she began zipping her pack. "Are you ready to head out now?"

She nodded.

"Alright. Be careful."

"I will," she answered softly, and after a few awkward moves, she slipped the backpack on like her own version of a carapace. "Call later?"

The Jonin nodded, following her into the hall. "Sounds good."

"What do you guys plan to do today?"

"Well"—Leo sighed—"we need to talk to Hugh, but apparently…he's busy."

* * *

Hugh's long legs twitched under the pressure of his sprint down a mainly-deserted sidewalk in Lower East Side. Air reached his lungs slower than he would've liked and his heartbeat rang loudly in his ears, but he couldn't stop. Beside him, he heard a second pair of steel-toe boots thunking against the cement like a beating drum increasing its tempo. This second runner was neither a suspect nor an attacker, though. He was Hugh's long-time partner, Blaine Williams. The real target they were tracking kept a good distance ahead of them—too good for the detective's liking.

'_Ah, man, I'm getting old!_' Hugh thought as the target's form grew more distant in the dark morning. When the cop could no longer differentiate the dark stripes from the light stripes of the figure's hoodie then he paced his breathing more readily, picking up speed. '_Work off them tacos, Hugh! Work off them tacos!_'

"Blaine!" he cried. "You take the left up ahead and block him on the other side! I'm going to corral him into the alley after next!"

"Right!"

In a matter of two seconds, a blur of yellow, white, and black flew past Hugh and disappeared like a ghost around the bend the forty-year-old man had yet to reach. A brief groan escaped the detective when he did race across the short crosswalk to the next block. Step by step, the distance between him and his target closed, but not fast enough. The second alley loomed ahead all too soon and the longer Hugh passed closed shops and tenement buildings, the more he realized the kid might get away.

'_Dammit!_'

"Don't worry; I got it covered, old man!"

'_What?_'

Hugh barely had time to register a young woman's voice from behind, let alone the blur of dark skin and black that rounded him as if he ran at the pace of a snail over salt. He didn't cease running, yet also couldn't push his limits any further—not if he wanted to remain conscious. So, he watched as a much younger person covered the distance in time to body-slam the target into the correct alley.

A dull 'thwack' and the banging of metal trashcans was immediately followed by a grunt then a groan of pain that trailed into a whimper. Hugh entered the narrow alley as Blaine approached from the other side and the young lady plucked the target off the dirty ground like a UWS superstar ready for a strike. She pinned him against the brick wall with a little too much gusto, and the detective placed himself between them before things went any further.

"Give him to me," Blaine snarled darkly.

But Hugh wouldn't let his friend near the green-haired teen that shivered violently beneath the tight grip on his hoodie. Again, Blaine tried to take the lead, and again, Hugh pushed him back with an elbow jab.

"Dammit, Hugh!" the younger male hissed, pointing an accusing finger. "That bastard _recognized_ the picture! It's why he ran; he _has_ something do with her missing!"

"What he is, is scared shitless!" countered Hugh with a glare. A single light in the alley—set high—cast just enough shadow on Blaine's face that his animalistic intent looked even scarier than it felt. And it felt very scary. "I know this kid," the African-American continued, controlled. "That's why I knew if the Purple Dragons saw anything, he would be the one to go to."

"Uh"—the female's condescending voice drew the cops' attention instantly—"if he's your go-to guy then…why was he running?"

Repressing a sigh, Hugh grimaced at the unknown woman's stern stance, silent. Years of street work quickly categorized her general features within his memory in case of future reference—olive skin, a lithe form with great proportions, shoulder-length black hair that had been cut straight across. She looked like a fighter, with that tough expression, and everything, from the way she moved to how she talked, echoed with the amount of confidence she clearly wore like a badge of honor. Hugh lastly noted her punkish yet still moderate attire before locking eyes with her.

"Well," he started, "obviously, something more must be going on. Isn't it, Scales?" In response, the pale gang member shook his head. "You should talk, kid. Otherwise, this may not end pretty…and it won't be my fault."

"I—I can't; not here," Scales said with whimper.

Apparently, that was enough for Blaine to lash forward. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he screamed, reaching for Scales. "You're our only lead. Tell me what the hell happened to my daughter, or so help me—"

"You won't do anything, Blaine!" By now, the detective sheltered his former target with his tall figure, and shook his head at Blaine's rolling eyes. "We'll take him to the precinct, interrogate him there. Legally. Alright?" The blonde didn't answer; that was expected. "You"—Hugh faced the young woman—"I, uh, thank you for your help. What's your name?"

She smirked at him, crossing her arms. "My name's Angel."

"Well, Angel, you should probably get home."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Angel's back in town?! Well. How will this go over? The storm's moving in and will form next chapter, so FOUR or more reviews, folks! :D


	7. Hesitation

**Author's Notes:** Wow, guys, that was fast. LOL. Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, and faeelfdragonmage \- SO MANY THANKS! Now here you have it, Angel's arrival.  
**Warning:** Crap's about to hit the fan. Language will ensue.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 07 - ****Hesitation**

Late on Wednesday night Donatello stood tall on the ledge of a building in Manhattan's Korea Town. The clear air was bitter like a freezer, and kept at bay only by the warm attire the genius had started wearing since average temperatures dropped to freezing degrees. Below his shoed-feet trails of unsuspecting New York citizens crowded the concrete sidewalks in droves. Tomorrow would be the first day of December, so the city buzzed with an increased amount of activity due to the upcoming holiday.

'_I wonder what Christmas will be like this year,_' the purple-banded ninja thought, eyes scanning the glowing cityscape. '_We'll have Nia with us. Maybe even…Gavin. But Casey? April? I don't think they'll be back for a while…_'

"Damn, Leo, did ya tell her the right place or what?" Raphael questioned gruffly. Turning, Donatello jumped down from the ledge, and watched as his hotheaded brother tugged at a wool scarf that was tucked snug into his knock-off-brand bomber jacket.

"So she's a few minutes late," Leonardo remarked from beside them.

Don pulled his long-hem parka closer, placing his gloved-hands under his arms. "Leo's got a point. You should chill…Wait, that's probably a poor choice of words right now."

"Maybe they're not." At Michelangelo's strangely unamused tone, the three turned towards their younger brother, who sat on the building's ledge. His backside faced them, yet Don sensed that past Mikey's fluffy mess of puffed clothes, he frowned.

"Ya got something ta say, Shell-for-Brains?" asked Raph, stepping forward.

Mikey wouldn't face the shaking fist behind him. "Yeah. I don't think you should be so antsy. I mean, if _I_ was going to meet my ex-girlfriend after so long—when she had so clearly and viciously broken up with me—I wouldn't be chomping at the bit to see her again…especially if I already had a _new_ girlfriend."

"I saw Nia before comin' here."

"Oh, yeah, that makes _everything_ better."

"I can tell yer rollin' yer eyes, Bonehead!"

"And?"

"Mikey," Leo interjected with a small sigh. "Angel's still an old friend of ours. Aren't you excited to see her too?"

"Of course I am!" cried Mikey. Regardless, the youngest rose his Michelin Man-like arms up instead of standing from his seat. "But she left the city because of what happened between her and Raph. I'm surprised she called us at all."

"Well, it's been—"

"And what do we got up here? A couple of idle ninjas, I see." Angel's smooth, familiar voice drifted across the wind, cutting Leo's words off.

Despite Michelangelo's previous pessimism, he was the first to reach the young woman that walked towards the group with her arms outstretched, a playful smirk on her dark-painted lips. She gave him a hug the best she could, given the circumference of Mikey's plush form and the restriction of her zipped leather jacket.

"Mikester!" she called with a laugh. "How many video games have you let rot your brain while I was gone?"

"Just a few," Mikey replied, also laughing. Not an ounce of unease lingered in him, which didn't surprise Donatello.

"Donny Boy?" Blinking, Don turned his gaze from Mikey to Angel, who held out her arms expectedly. He returned her grin with a small smile, leaning down for a hug. "Damn, you got taller," the black-haired woman remarked as she stepped back. "You gotta be over six feet by now."

Don gave a weak chuckle. "I, uh, I'm six-three."

"No _shit_?" Brown eyes wide, Angel whistled.

"I know, it's…" Don groaned. "All I can say is that I just really hope my body's done now."

"Crazy, ain't it?" added Mikey as he stood between Don and Leo for attention. "When we first started gaining inches, we all thought Don would be the shortest and Raph would be the tallest. But look"—the orange-banded mutant lifted a hand to his eldest brother's height then brought that same hand over his head—"At six-foot, Leo's got two inches on me, and Raph's now the five-foot-seven troll!"

Angel tried hard not to laugh—she even bit her bottom lip—but she failed. In his peripheral vision, Donatello noted the embarrassment that swelled in Raphael like a blocked volcano. Before any emotions erupted, though, Leonardo approached his brother discreetly, and by the time Angel and Mikey's laughter ceased, Raph stood like a surly statue at the end of the line.

'_Wow, he actually backed down without a fight?_' the genius thought.

"So, Leo"—In an instant, Don's eyes landed on the speaking female, who sent Leonardo a devious grin—"you tracking down any bad guys tonight?" Leonardo accepted the gloved-hand she offered him, and they drew their bodies close in what Casey would call a 'guy hug'.

"Before we get into that mess," the Jonin started with a grin, "why not tell us why you're visiting? You didn't say much on the phone."

"Oh, right…" The complete laxness in Angel's persona suddenly eased. Not by a lot, but enough that a ninja could sense it. "Sorry. Grandma was demanding my attention. I figured I owed her at least today. You know how paranoid she's been since Ryan…"

"Ya tried yer best wit' him, Angel," Raphael said with the faintest trace of a growl. Angel's attention drifted to him, slow, careful—though when their eyes met the human didn't smile like she had with the other Hamato brothers.

"I know," she said lowly. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, probably to recover some of the enthusiasm that had quickly left her. "Hi, by the way, Raph."

"Hi," the hothead parroted, his frown growing when she smiled at Leo.

"If you all _must_ know"—the young woman spoke in a teasing manner—"I came for a few reasons. One of them being to visit that bonehead Casey. But apparently he headed out west?" With questioning eyes, Angel stared down both Don and Leo.

"He did," Leonardo answered, stiff. "He, uh…he and April got into a fight. A bad one. They broke up. Casey took off with his bike and now April's in South America."

"The hell did he do?" Angel asked in clear disbelief.

The Jonin sighed, opening his mouth, yet Donatello couldn't help answering, "Apparently Casey had been promising April something 'great' since September. He kept her waiting two months, building up hope. We all thought the same thing; he was going to propose. Even Raph was so convinced he didn't feel a need to talk to Casey about it. But…"

"What'd the jackass do instead?" There wasn't an ounce of doubt in the human's question.

"He unveiled a motorcycle," Mikey replied, bitter. At Angel's following groan, he nodded his head. "Oh, yeah. It was for her, but you can imagine how upset she was. When she broke and finally told him what she thought was going to happen, he told her 'A ring? But a bike's better than a ring.'"

"You're shitting me."

"I am _not_."

"No wonder he got dumped!"

"How do ya know that? What if _he_ dumped her?" Everyone turned to Raph, deadpanning. "What?"

"_Anyways_," started Angel dryly as she faced the other brothers, "I guess since the jerk isn't here, I'll tell you guys what I've been saving for him."

"And that would be…?"

The tanned female sent Mikey a proud smirk. "You boys are looking at Atlanta's Female Kickboxing Champion of the year, Lightweight division."

"Sweet!" the youngest Hamato cheered, jumping forward to wrap his friend in a tight hug. He released her after a moment and sidestepped so she could bask in the congratulatory smiles around her.

"Kickboxing, huh?" Donatello asked.

"Suits ya," added Raphael.

Angel faced the hothead with a controlled expression. "Thanks. I plan to join the US' Kickboxing Championship Tournament next year, now that I practiced enough. I'd say a twenty-eight to thirty score ain't too shabby."

"Now you're gloating," Michelangelo stated while laughing. He gave the young woman's shoulder a gentle push, and she twisted towards him with a sly grin after catching her footing.

"Maybe I am."

"Looks like Georgia's been treating you well," Leonardo said kindly. He sounded relieved, like he had finally been able to let go of a buried worry he alone knew about.

"It has." Playfulness now replaced with honest joy, Angel smiled bright. "I've made so many good friends, and in our gym, I partake in a program that helps troubled teens with an outlet. It's very rewarding for me, though it sometimes brings up memories…Anyways, what about you guys? How's the city? I forgot how damn cold it gets here."

"What was it like in Georgia before you left?" asked Michelangelo as he sniffled in the frigid weather.

"Low sixties," Angel answered, blanching.

"Oh-ho-ho!"

"I know, Mikester. I know." Patting the whimpering Mikey's coat, the young woman nodded.

"The city's had its ups and…downs," Leo replied. "It's been—learning experiences all around." Donny could tell his brother didn't quite want to lie, but even he thought bringing up the matters of July and October were far to involving and painful for simple rooftop chatter.

"I heard about the October incident," Angel noted while facing Leo again. She smirked. "Tell me, what enemy did you make this time that earned the name 'Hollow's Eve Demon'? There's no _way_ that crazy blackout had nothing to do with you."

Don grimaced at the name, but he made no comment on it. He left that for Mikey.

"Dudette, it wasn't a demon _or_ an enemy!" the nunchaku master cried in mild offence. Making quick steps to Raph's side, he slung an arm around the hothead's shoulders and faced Angel, a less-than-ecstatic smile on his wide mouth. "The so-called 'demon' name the News came up with is totally unfitting. We would know; she's Raph's girlfriend."

"Raph's _girlfriend_?" The words left Angel's lips a sputter. Then, she paused. In what? Donatello couldn't say. But she regained her composure in moments, taking a deep breath. "Wow. Who would've thought?"

"Yeah, who would've thought?" Mikey repeated—a tad tart.

"We've only been goin' out three weeks," Raph added.

His youngest brother was quick to send him a look. "Only?"

"Every relationship starts somewhere," said Angel, her tone more serious than teasing. "It's good, Raph. I'm—I'm happy for you. Really." Silent, the tanned human smiled, though the honesty of it remained obscured. "By the way, there's something else I wanted to tell you guys—a surprise."

"Oh?" Mikey suddenly perked up like a praised child. He jumped a little in his place, large sneakers smacking against the concrete floor as he, inch by inch, neared the grinning kickboxer.

"No, Mikey, it's not just for you," she remarked when she placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

"Aw, man…" Just as quick as it came, Mikey's excitement dropped into an exaggerated pout. He folded his arms and Angel took back her hand. She hesitated afterwards, her smile faltering for no more than a second before it strengthened.

'_That's strange,_' Donatello thought. '_She usually gets that expression when nervous. What could she possibly have to be nervous about..?_' He wanted to ask her as much, out loud, so when her brown eyes met his, he stepped forward. The question on his tongue, however, died quicker than he could blink.

An intense display of warm lights filled New York's horizon as if it were an unnatural daybreak. It immediately drew Don's attention towards the right like the calling out of a familiar enemy, and before his racing mind could focus on its source, a sudden pop erupted throughout the air of the dimming sky—a very short yet strong sound that bit at the mutant's eardrums.

Placing a hand over one side of his head—flinching—the genius spotted a billow of smoke and fire towering high into the atmosphere from behind several tall buildings. It had to be about five, maybe six, blocks away, if he were to guess, and while not the largest explosion he'd ever seen, it was still substantial enough to leave a queasy feeling in his gut. Surely, the others felt it too; as its brilliance diminished, Donatello quickly released as many restricting binds on his winter attire as possible.

"Looks like your surprise is going to have to wait, Angel," Leonardo said in all seriousness. He had already unzipped his coat for free movement of his arms, and nodded at his brothers.

"Looks like," Angel remarked grimly. "Guess we have to go help some people first, huh?"

"And if I told you it was too dangerous, you'd follow anyway, right?"

The human rounded the Jonin's side, probably smirking at his grim expression. "The longer we wait, the worse it'll be for everyone, so hurry up!"

Angel wasted no further time with words; she never did. One moment she stood on the building's ledge, the next moment she leapt off. Raphael was quick to follow her to the next roof and Michelangelo gained speed behind them. Only Donatello remained long enough to witness his eldest brother's displeased sigh before the two of them followed suit.

Naturally, Leo took the lead, relieving Angel of her spot. However, she didn't fall in line like she should've—like any of the brothers would've. Instead, she strayed to Leo's left, keeping pace with him easily. That didn't shock Don in the least. On patrol, she only ever went with Raph, and those two always led their prowl side-by-side. Sure, she'd fought in battles with them before, but that wasn't the same as fighting as a unit. And it showed in how she challenged their leader to keep up.

'_That's Angel for you…_'

"Leo!" Don cried out from the rear. A subtle turn of the head showed he'd been acknowledged. "The explosion came from Kips Bay, very near the center or more towards the waterfront. We should travel down Park Avenue before crossing over. People will be gathering, so it's best we keep minimum presence in the area."

"Agreed!" Leo yelled in return. "Chances are high we can't do anything at this point, but…it's still worth a look. Follow my lead."

"Ya don't gotta tell us that, Bro!" Raph exclaimed from the right. But Leo hadn't been referring to any of his brothers, Don knew.

They traveled in silence the rest of the way, swinging and leaping over any urban obstacles in their path. As Donatello had predicted, the black smoke billowed aggressively from Kips Bay's center, and when the group reached the disaster's debris-littered outskirts, a chorus of ambulance sirens already roared in the distance. Having been beaten to the scene, they remained on the roof of an opposing building, looking across Twenty-Seventh Street at a four-story tenant building that no longer had half its mansard roof. Or most of its fourth story in general.

The old place must've been condemned because splintered pieces of plywood burned in the streets from the busted windows that'd been draped with plastic, and graffiti covered its redbrick walls every which way. Not to mention it stood as a single unit away from other residential building, like a leper surrounded by downed chain-link fencing, broken concrete, and overgrown grass patches. The pungent odor of ether above the woody smoke in the air—repulsive like Klunk's spry—wasn't needed to convince the genius of what seemed like the most logical explanation.

"If a criminal wants to run their own meth lab, they should at least brush up on their science," Don said, grimacing at the bon fire that heated him to uncomfortable temperatures.

"I swear: druggies are gunna be what burns our city down," Raphael remarked gruffly.

"Well, that's a little disappointing," noted Angel. Donny sensed Leo's attention turn with his as he gave the woman a mild look. She smiled apologetically. "I meant I wanted to fight some bad guys with you."

"And you may after all, Ang." Donatello had to step back and crane his neck to see Michelangelo on the other side of Angel when the latter spoke. The orange-banded Chūnin crouched on the building ledge and pointed sideways with a glove-free hand. Guided by that line of sight, Don's eyes fell to the nearest structure beside the engulfed tenant building—more specifically, to the three figures dressed in trailing red-cloaks that dashed across its flat surface to the high-hip rooftop of a neighboring building as if they were jumping on a trampoline. "Okay. My freaky radar just went off!"

"Don't that thing go off every time ya look in a mirror?"

"What're they carrying?" Don asked to keep the conversation on track.

"Not sure," answered Leo, low, "but we can't let them get away."

And so, wordless, Leonardo acted. Donatello stuck close to his brother's side, mirroring his actions as they descended to a rooftop on the right of the building. In his peripheral vision, Don noted Angel and Raphael both headed for the other side before anyone else, without warning. The shake of Leo's head couldn't be missed, but the Jonin didn't call out to the duo that crossed on the thick power lines. Instead, he ensured his two obeying brothers stayed at his sides by signaling them.

"We'll wait for Raph and Angel to surprise them from the rear," Leo said as the trio raced along thick building ledges and metal fire escapes. "I don't doubt those two will take one on their own. When they're distracted, the three of us will jump in and separate the other two, alternating partners. Donny"—the blue-banded mutant fell back and rounded Don's side for a side glance—"Are they carrying what I think they are?"

"Bodies," Don answered without doubt. A simple look across street confirmed the forms draped over the figures' shoulders. "Four of them. Judging by their mostly naked condition, I'd say they caused that explosion."

Mikey let out a long hum. "And the other guys look unaffected because…?"

"Perhaps they arrived after the fact like we did," Leo added.

"Sure," the youngest drawled, "because kidnapping some druggies after spotting a fire makes perfect sense."

"I didn't say it made _sense_," snapped their leader. Donatello didn't see it, but he was sure Leonardo sent Michelangelo a mild glare. "We can't question the why right now, Mikey. First, we have to stop them, without harming the hostages. And that starts…_now_!"

On cue, the three brothers leapt into action—right as the cloaked-figures paused to assess Raphael and Angel's ambush on their rear member. Donatello used his bō staff as a vault to the top of a power pole, where he employed the slanted wire like a zip line to the street's other side. The mutant landed on the two-story high roof of a grocery store just in time to block one red-hooded figure from joining Raph's fight several feet away.

With two masterful swings of his staff, he immediately hit the figure against the back of the neck then hard in the gut. But the figure didn't grunt in the least. Only a light crunching noise accompanied it as it slid back a fraction against the loose pebbles of the roof, and the genius' mind reeled at the fact that it could keep such a firm hold on the two badly-burned males over its shoulders while enduring rib-fracturing force. Not even stunned, the figure's head twisted towards him, slowly.

Don tried hard to remain focused. Even so, he still paused a moment in marvel of the strangeness and creativity of the metal mask beneath the cloak's excessive hood. The prominent engravings of geometric shapes that covered it were broken up only by the heavily outlined mouth—a square slit that resembled a dummy's open mouth—and nose—whose inch-wide bridge ran up the forehead's middle. This—coupled with its narrow, pointed jaw—convinced Don the mask had been modeled after African art, and as the figured turned its remaining body, the sunken, round eyes of the mask seemed to glow a brighter red.

"Don, showno hesitation!" Leonardo called. Donatello barely sensed the action behind him before he ducked, watching as Michelangelo failed to deliver a hammer-kick against the figure he'd been staring at. In an instant Leo stood beside him—katanas poised and dark expression focused on a different opponent.

"Sorry," the purple-banded Chūnin said, raising his bō staff against another red-cloak figure. This one stood taller than the others and carried one body—a heavy-set male.

'_His mask is different than the other one…_'

But the genius had no time to observe it like the last one; the figure lashed forward with its free arm of black, seeking a victim with its clawed-fingers. Leo and Don evaded the attack easily by separating and in the moment their enemy bull-dozed forward, the Jonin leapt over him, swiping his katanas in an 'X' formation over its head as he twisted his body upside down in the chilly air. Strangely, the hood's fabric didn't split, and the arm the figure had used as a shield against the blades sparked slightly.

'_He must be wearing some sort of metallic suit,_' Don thought, eyeing the arm that glinted like black gold in the partial moonlight.

His shoulders hunched when his eldest brother landed by his Nuchal scute, yet his kneeling wasn't out of shock. Leonardo was preparing to jump again, and if Donatello's swing against the figure's back knees failed, the Jonin would need to rethink his landing. The next move was executed flawlessly; the problem came from the green body that collided into the figure's unguarded back, knocking it forward.

"Raph, keep them separated!" Leo bellowed. He easily areal flipped off his perch so he could roundhouse kick the third figure that Angel and Raphael were once busy with. It flew back a yard or two at such power, yet steadied its top-heavy load by digging its bulky feet into the concrete below the gravel as if it were butter.

"Am I the only one who's having flashbacks to those jewel thieves from a while ago?" Michelangelo asked in a nasally scream.

Hearing Mikey's voice, Don whirled, kneeled in the pebbles, and steadied his bō staff upright—all in a matter of a second. Mikey dashed the genius' way at full-speed, chased by the first figure that no longer hauled two bodies. The youngest Hamato used the wooden staff as a means of maintaining his momentum when he swung back the way he came, and as he brought down a barrage of nunchackus and kicks on the cloaked opponent's head, Donny seized the chance to hit the kidnapper's torso at every angle possible.

The bō staff was soon caught, however, and used to hurl Donatello several feet away. While the clothes he wore saved most of his body from cuts, the unmistakable taste of blood in his mouth had him spitting in disgust when he rose to his feet.

A light shake of his head was needed to refocus his sight on the figure that approached him. Its hood had been pushed back in the fray, though it only revealed some short-cropped hair and a sort of rounded attachment on the sides of the head that must've kept the mask on. The figure's pace was slow and easy in his walk across the crunchy gravel—as if he had no fear at all—and Donatello scowled at such tasteless taunting.

When the figure crouched in preparation for attack, the purple-banded mutant steadied his stance as well. They charged. Donatello twirled his staff in anticipation of defense. But a tornado of steel blindsided the opponent before wood met metal.

Leonardo descended like a strike of lightning—fast and with a display of white sparks. The fury of his blades weakened the attachment on the right side of the figure's face enough that it fell in two sizzling pieces against the rooftop. The being managed a counter attack by swiping an arm through the air, driving Leo back long enough that the mask slipped from the kidnapper's face to the ground with a light 'clunk'.

The opponent's following kick was blocked by Leo's parallel blades, and he huffed in aggravation for the first time before something snapped in his once-calm moves. He outright raised Leo by seizing the mutant's hands—hilts and all—and kicked him square in the plastron with the ease of a football player punting a ball.

"Leo!" Donny screamed, watching in horror as the Jonin's carapace cracked the brick ledge that stopped him. The leader's form twitched, but he was clearly out of breath. And vulnerable. Eyes narrowed, the genius turned his attention on the red-cloak figure. "This has gone on long enough! Tell us, who are you and what…do…you…want?"

The kidnapper twisted, and the face that met Donatello's gaze left him frozen in place. Move, he told his muscles. But they wouldn't listen, and the harder he tried instructing them, the hazier his consciousness grew.

Was there any sound other than the buzzing in his ears? His heart was pounding, wasn't it? Or was that some other organ trying to escape his chest? Didn't he have his staff in his hands? When did he drop that?

Wait. Why was it so cold? What was he doing on this roof again? Why was _she_ here? And why did she look so…different?

A muffled cry cut through the white noise. Was that Leo's voice? Don couldn't be sure; the breathlessness suddenly worsened, and everything faded into white.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** It only goes downhill from here. Review for _Chapter 8: Source_. We need at least four, though more is loved! :D BTW "high-hip" is a kinda roof.


	8. Source

**Author's Notes:** My regulars, you are the BEST! LOL. Please, stick with me through future...trials. Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, and D'Fuentes \- you know I love ya. Others, you should review too. :P Onwards!  
**Warning:** Raph's livid. Occational strong language.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 08 - ****Source**

Splinter felt his heart breaking like weakened glass. Not simply because his sons had woken him from a deep slumber with disturbing news, but more so because a battered and bruised Raphael cut so deep into Donatello's fractured psyche that the purple-banded mutant looked lost in his seat.

Such brutality had driven Michelangelo away from the candle-lit bedroom early on, and the moment the shoji screen had shut behind him, all hell had broken loose. Yet no matter how harsh the reprimand or severe the glare, the stubborn hothead wouldn't adhere to his father. The wizened rat was left to stare at the scene in heartache as Raphael screamed for answers to questions that Donatello didn't seem to register.

"Why the hell ain't ya answerin' my questions?" Raphael demanded. The gruffness of his raw emotion had intensified in the passing minutes, though his resolve was diminishing into despair—Splinter could tell. "Speak, _dammit_!"

"Why?" Donatello suddenly snapped back. His unfocused gaze sharpened into a fierce glare Splinter found unnerving, and he scoffed when his brother stomped towards the zabuton he kneeled on, saying, "You don't ever listen when you're like this, Raph. Even if I _did_ say something, it would go in one ear and out the other—only worse than usual!"

Raphael growled with his scratched fists clenched tight at his sides. "Ya think I don't listen?" he questioned bitterly as he leaned forward. "I can listen! Come on; tell me, right now—I'm _listenin'_!"

Donatello contemplated punching his sibling across the cheek the older brother turned to him—his patronizing smile and clenched, blood-stained fists said as much. But Splinter's intelligent son knew better than to give into his impulses—regardless of how rare they were—so Raphael returned to pacing across the tatami mats without incident.

"My sons," Splinter interjected, hardly calm. "It's been nearly ten minutes, yet neither of you has given a clear account of what happened."

"What more is there ta know?" Raphael asked, stripping himself of his tattered jacket and tossing it aside. "Brain Boy here utterly froze for _no_ reason, so Leo had ta take a hit for him!"

"It wasn't for 'no reason'," mumbled Donatello. He didn't face his brother, though—not even when the hothead whirled with a glare.

"It wasn't?" Raphael advanced on stomping sneakers until he reached his brother's tense shoulder, which he gripped tightly. "Tell me, what reason could ya _possibly_ 'a had?" he continued while forcing Donatello onto his backside by sheer force. "Leo was taken 'cuz ya fuckin' _shut down_!"

Enough was enough. Splinter finally picked up the walking stick beside the futon he kneeled on. With the right amount of force and the perfect angle, he sent the piece of wood spinning length-wise at Raphael's hard head. It gave a rather loud 'thunk' upon contact then bounced back, except it didn't quite make it into Splinter's awaiting paw like planned. No matter; his aching wrist may not have withstood the weight anyway. So, breathing deep, the mutant rat placed the walking stick in the same spot he had found it, and met Raphael's annoyed expression evenly.

"You are _not_ to blame your brother," he said. "You are to understand the 'why?' instead."

"Okay, then," spoke Raphael sardonically. He sneered at Donatello, who hadn't bothered moving. "_Why'd_ ya let that chick take Leo, Donny?"

"I didn'tlet her, asshole!" Donatello cried in return. With a renewed scowl, the genius rose to his feet, staring down at his older brother with a wounded passion he didn't often express.

"Oh yeah?" The hothead puffed his chest out and remained confident in spite of the eight-inch-difference between them. "Then why just stand 'dere?"

"I _stood_ there" —Donatello started, heated yet reserved—"because I couldn't think. I tried telling my body to move, but it _couldn't_."

"What? Did yer brain turn off?"

"Raphael!" Splinter snapped as he reached for his walking stick again. His second eldest son immediately glanced in his direction then stepped down, crossing his arms with a displeased snort as the mutant rat drew his paw back. When Donatello's form relaxed a little under the torn parka he still wore, the father faced him with a somber expression. "Donatello, could you tell us what it was about this kidnapper that struck you so deeply?"

"I…I—I…" The purple-banded Chūnin struggled hard for both words and breath, as if he couldn't answer his father's question even in his own mind. He avoided eye contact with his family, though with the way his voice wavered in want for tears, Splinter couldn't blame him. "I—I know her," Donatello managed after a silent moment.

"Know her?"

"How the hell could ya possible know her, Brainiac?"

Splinter held up a paw towards Raphael. "My son, for your shock to be this deep…she must have been a very dear friend."

"She is!" Donatello spat in defensive passion. Then, pausing, he bowed the head he had raised, continuing meekly, "I mean…she was…It—it looked like her, but…it didn't _seem_ like her at all—not the woman I know."

"Who is she?" questioned Splinter.

The genius hesitated before answering. "Re—remember the source I mentioned when we were investigating Nia's situation?"

"She's yer other source?" Slowly, Donatello nodded at Raphael. "Dude, if that's true, then shouldn't she be on our side?"

"I don't get it," said Donatello under his breath. He talked like he were drifting from the conversation entirely, and Splinter couldn't stop his frown.

'_Donatello, my son…_' he thought while closely watching the shellshock grow on his son's face. '_He truly cannot wrap his mind around the situation—not yet. Like Michelangelo, he needs time to process his thoughts…_'

"You need rest, Donatello," Splinter said in ease. Raphael twisted his way, but the old master sent him a clear look that kept him quiet. "Go; wash up, attend your wounds and Michelangelo's as well, if he's awake. I will continue to speak with Raphael."

For just the briefest of moments it looked like Donatello would fight his father's commands. There was a small word forming on his wide mouth, a shamed glint in his brown eyes. Then, it all died in the blink of an eye. His whole face—which had long-since paled with fatigue, stress, and fear—turned downcast, and he bowed without saying anything further before he left the bedroom.

"Why'd ya let him _go_ like that, Sensei?" Raphael demanded before the shoji screen even shut.

The master sighed at his pupil's tensed form that approached with clenched fists and a barely refrained glare. "If you continued such actions as you were, you would have done more harm than good, Raphael. Your anxiety and impatience blinds you to the truth."

"What truth?" Jabbing an arm behind him—towards the door—he scoffed. "Don barely said anything!"

"He said more than enough for now," the wizened rat countered sternly. His tail whipped behind him. "Now why don't you tell me the rest? After Donatello blanked, and Leonardo was hit, what happened?"

Slowly, begrudgingly, Raphael calmed down enough to accept the zabuton seat that was gestured to by his father. "I was too busy fightin' one wit' Angel ta see what happened exactly," he started after a deep breath. "It was Mikey's cry that—that really drew my attention. I looked over my shoulder an' saw Leo fly inta the building's roof access door. His…body cracked the concrete, bent the metal. He had ta 'a lost consciousness. Still, Donny didn't move. Not. One. Inch."

"I see. And how"—the words caught in Splinter's dry throat—"how was Leonardo…taken?"

The hothead's amber eyes narrowed. "The unmasked kidnaper, Don's so-called 'source'. She knocked Mikey out wit' a hit ta the back 'a the neck. Angel an' I tried ta keep par wit' the remainin' members, but the chick stunned us. I think Angel blacked out for a moment…

"My head was spinnin' when I looked up from the ground. The chick had taken one 'a her accomplice's loads, so that one could take Leo. I…I tried ta go after 'em, Sensei, I did." Here, Raphael's fists clenched tighter in his lap. "I scared 'em away from Mikey, but…the one wit' Leo flew away—_flew_, wit' these metal, like, wings! An' the others ran before I could even _touch_ their cloaks. The bastards _took_ him, Sensei! They _took_ him…an' I couldn't stop 'em."

The mutant turtle's deep voice hitched stiffly, like his pause when rising to his feet. By the time he had uncurled one leg from beneath him, he was already sitting back down, scraping his fingers against the tatami mat's smoothness in a subconscious habit he retained from childhood.

Splinter wished he could offer a reassuring smile, yet he had a hard enough time keeping tears from his prickly eyes. "Just as when you were taken by Bishop in October," he started, "we must keep faith that Leonardo will—remain _strong_." The mutant rat had almost said 'live', and that revelation dropped his stomach. "Tell me, what leads do you have?"

"Other than what Don's said? _None_."

"I see..."

Frowning, Raphael brought his arms to rest on his knees. "We couldn't find anything special wit' the bodies they left behind."

"Left behind?"

"Yeah, the ones Mikey managed ta nab from the chick before she went super soldier on us. He dropped 'em onto a fire escape an' the group didn't pick 'em up when they left."

"These were the addicts you mentioned?"

"Half 'a them…I checked their pulses. There were none. When I looked over their burnt bodies I found that their teeth were yellowin' an' there were spots on what was left of their faces from where they'd scratch at themselves. But they hadn't lost very much weight."

Splinter hummed softly. "So they were relatively new to the drug."

"Guess they thought manufacturing it would save money?" Raphael added, grim. "I don't get why people do that ta themselves. They'll never win in the end."

"With drugs, it is never a matter of winning," noted Splinter with a light sigh. "Some just feel there is no other way to find happiness or relief. It is such a sad thing when all they need is a loving hand to guide them through their troubles…and a want to help themselves. What was done with the corpses?"

"Angel 'n I dropped 'em as close ta the police as we could since they were still at the explosion scene. By the time we did that, Mikey 'n Don were movin' again, so Angel went back ta her grandma's. She said ta call when we go out again 'cuz she wants ta help find Leo."

"Is that so?" Pausing, the master fought a deeper sigh at the spotting of a little smirk that found its way to Raphael's mouth.

"If those bodies had a story ta tell," the red-banded ninja continued, "it wasn't meant for us."

* * *

Hugh's heavy head banged against his wooden desk, hard. The burning around his eye sockets had only grown worse since the start of his shift hours ago, but he wouldn't give into sleep—at least, not until the end of his shift, when he could take a nap in the car before searching some more with Blaine. Up until then, he had a few papers that needed looked over…somewhere...in the mess of paperwork he wanted to drool into.

"Detective Reese!" the masculine voice of his boss suddenly cried over the chattering noise of working officers in the Nineteenth Precinct.

Hugh managed to sit upright in his desk chair just as his neighbor—an attractive little brunette woman named Kristi Dillingham—smiled impishly at him. "You know I'm not the only one who feels that's our precinct's catchphrase, right?"

"Come on, it's not _that_ bad," countered Hugh in low hiss. His vision settled on a heavy-set man in a short-sleeve uniform that stormed down an aisle of desks like a stampeding bull. The top of the Caucasian's balding head was already a notable shade of fleshy red, which didn't bode well for the African-American—not in the least. "What can I do for you, Inspector Wendell Erb, Sir?" he asked politely the moment his boss reached his desk. He noted Kristi and her close friend Donna Sloan watched while trying to seem inconspicuous, so he blocked their presence from his mind. Kind of.

"Why is getting a straight answer out of you like bathing cats?" the Inspector asked, dark gray eyes narrowed.

"Well, not all the time," Hugh remarked easily. "Were you to ask me if the Chocolate Nutty Bar in hall's vending machine really costs a dollar-fifty, I'd say 'yes'."

"_Reese_."

"It really does!"

"On my desk—today—you were supposed to have the report of—are those files from the Little Red case?"

Hugh gave his boss a sheepish smile when the man glanced at the many, many papers that created a collage over the desk. "Maybe."

"Dammit, Hugh!" Raising a meaty arm, Wendell pointed at the picture spread of figures in red-hoods. "That's the Midtown South's case, not _yours_!"

"Come on, Sir!" The detective frowned. "My best friend's seven-year-old daughter is missing, and this case is tied to it."

"So you think. You went on your own—_again_—picking up a kid for interrogation yesterday morning. But the word of a little Purple Dragon punk isn't something to take seriously. They'll say anything!"

"That punk"—Hugh started, jaw tense—"is named Kenneth Miles. And he doesn't lie. If he said he saw one of these hooded figures snatch the girl then I believe him."

"No; he's just like any other Purple Dragon," the Inspector retaliated with a reprimanding glare. "There's no difference, and they don't deserve your favoritism or pity. I know you pulled strings to get both him and that brat Damien Hanson into Carter instead of Green Haven, where they belong."

"Death row's a little much to ask from some kids, don't you think?" questioned Hugh. His tone had turned snappy; he could no longer control it. "Minimum security will be fine. Trust me. Damien's been all around the board, but he's never killed anyone. Personally, I'm proud of him for deciding to turn his life around. His girlfriend is, too.

"As for Kenneth? That boy doesn't know what to do with himself. He's a hot mess, but I think this good scare and a positive outlook for his future will be for the better. Besides, he has intel about recent Purple Dragon workings that can be quite valuable. He just wants protection."

Wendell's bitter laugh left him left in a short, loud segment. The heavy-set man instantly twisted around, a hand on his temple, probably to keep himself from losing his temper completely. When he turned, a sore smile graced his face and he spoke in controlled words like they stung his mouth.

"Mario Wilkins at Seventeenth Precinct has been investigating that Meth explosion over on Twenty-Sixth."

"You mean _Doughnut_ got a case?" a borderline-nasally voice interjected. Hugh's attention fell on the desk that opposed Kristi's, which belonged to Donna. The dirty-blonde with a braid stationed there smiled nervously back at her boss while playing a bit with the collar of her uniform. "I mean, good for him."

"Watch your mouth Officer Sloan," the Inspector replied, "unless you want to wind up with grunt work. Again."

"Yes, Sir," Donna immediately said, gloved-hands raised in surrender. She returned to what little desk work she was assigned normally, and with a crack of his neck, Wendell looked back at Hugh.

"The case is quite cut and dry—to my standards," he continued. "But, of course, Wilkins would point out the _one_ strange thing."

Hugh sat back further in his chair when his boss threw an open case file onto his desk. The snapping force blew away several pages and pictures at the edges of his spread, yet he kept focused on the two pictures paper-clipped onto the manila folder's inside.

'_Man, them some nasty burns,_' Hugh thought, cringing.

"Wilkins faxed this over. These bodies were recovered from the scene. Peter Baily"—the light-skinned man pointed at a Caucasian whose dark hair and sunken face had been halfway burned off—"homeless. Larry Pacheo"—slowly, Wendell's pudgy finger landed on the second picture of a balding man with what would've been a lot of round features if they hadn't been distorted from the explosion—"Has several addresses, none of them true."

"And the strange thing about them is?"

"They weren't recovered from the building or lying in the streets. They were spread out side-by-side at the mouth of an alley near the scene."

'_The Hamato brothers,_' Hugh told himself. '_Sounds like a signature of theirs. I'll have to call Michelangelo to see what happened._'

"Wilkins thinks someone tried saving them or something," the graying Inspector added in apparent disbelief. "I will admit the placing is unnatural. But that's all. Since they're apparently members of the Forty-Four Street Crew, Wilkins would like you to use your gang sources for insight into these guys, see who would want them alive or dead."

The detective let out a long sigh then closed the file. "I could ask Damien, but he often kept to himself. I'll see if Kenneth has anything; however"—Hugh frowned—"I get the feeling they won't lead us to any answers."

* * *

Nia knocked softly against the Lab's aluminum door, awaiting an answer. After a long moment a little grunt responded, so she opened the cool door with care, poking her head inside the space before the rest of her body followed suit. The dim lighting looked unnatural as she crossed the hard ground; it felt too dead for what usually was such a lively place filled with exploration and testing. She rubbed her arms under such a heavy atmosphere, but not too hard because she didn't want the thin, red sweater that barely clung to her sloped shoulders to slip down.

"Hi," she said softly to the figure that slumped over a remarkably clean, metal table.

In seconds small clanks and crunches around her Silver Sentry converse drew her attention on the ground, and she realized the only reason the table was clear was because everything on its top had been violently pushed off. Nia frowned at the unattended piles of broken glass, unknown ooze, metal containers, and piles of ruined paper before continuing her journey.

Finding a seat took a moment—mainly due to the poor lighting—but she recovered a rolling stool that looked to have been kicked across the room. After raising it to the right height, she sat down crossways from her purple-banded friend, intertwining her fingers into the ripped fabric of her work jeans so they brushed against the slickness of her yellow leggings.

"Hey," she tried again.

Donatello didn't look up when he replied, "Hey…"

"Um…I…I, uh, h—heard about Leo," Nia said in all awkwardness and hurt. Her short nails dug deep into her un-toned legs and her vision couldn't remain forward. "Mi—Mikey called me a little while ago. He told me what happened. He, uh, probably doesn't think I know…but he was crying." Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired woman noted Don's grip on something tightened beneath his folder arms. "I—I don't know how much—help I can be, but…if there's anything I can do, _please_ tell me." Her soft voice broke at the end, involuntarily.

Donatello gave her a moment then finally raised his vision from the table top. "Thanks…Is Mikey still up?" he asked in a hoarse voice—as if he had spent hours sobbing.

"No," Nia answered with a little sigh. "I told him I was coming over, but he's asleep now."

"Have…you talked with Raph?"

The young woman shook her head at the Chūnin's vague frown. "N—not yet. He…he hasn't called, and when I got here, I couldn't find him. Mister Splinter"—she paused, Leonardo's voice suddenly filling her mind—"Splinter-_san_ said he left soon after talking with him."

"Figures, the ass," commented Don darkly before he paused. "Wait a minute. 'San'?" His small smile seemed to be a hard task for him.

"Y—yeah," Nia replied with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders. Still, she smiled softly, sadly. "Before…before I left for work yesterday, I talked with Leo-san. He taught me a little bit about Japanese honorifics. I—I'm trying hard to remember them right now."

"You want to start using honorifics?"

"Just—just with you guys. He looked…happy I wanted to."

"I bet he was…" Suddenly, Donatello straightened up, his frown more prominent as he stared down at Nia. "Did you walk here alone?"

"Not all the way," she answered meekly. "Daddy gave me some money for the subway, but…"

"He wouldn't come," the mutant finished, sore.

Nia sighed. "He—he said there would be no point since he can't help any. Besides, he, uh, needed to get new lights for the kitchen."

"Did they blow?"

"Mikey…called me when I was eating cereal."

"Ah."

"But th—the oven, toaster, and microwave—they were all fine!"

Don chuckled, though it sounded half-hearted. "That's good. It means you're—you're gaining more control. That's…that's good…"

"Donny-san"—Nia's soft voice earned the mutant's distant stare, though just barely—"Please…Splinter-san said you wouldn't talk about the…the unmasked woman. But—but you probably should. If you, uh, want…I'm here to listen."

Maybe Donatello wanted to say 'yes'. Isn't that why he immediately looked ready for a reply? Then again, Nia's social skills had always been poor, so perhaps she'd been reading his body cues all wrong because he remained quiet for a while. When she sighed in defeat, only then did he uncross his arms. The young woman noticed a stitch job on the inside of his forearm—which was surrounded in a dark bruise—as he handed over what he had been holding in his tight grip: a wallet-sized photograph. Gingerly, she took the creased object, bringing it close for a better look.

"Her…her name's Melody Gray," Donatello started, voice even hoarser than before. "Our meetings were very…periodical at first; I would pass her in the junkyard while scavenging for parts and talking with Phil, Star, and Ernie. Kept to myself for the most part, though I've saved her from PDs as well. Only, that cost me four months of the cold shoulder." Here, he gave a little laugh.

"The Professor—who you met at Thanksgiving—sometimes gives little speeches there. The subject matter is random, really. I—I remember, quite distinctly, though, that night we started connecting, he was talking about the social gap of homeless and those employed. She was standing right beside me, and said 'the reality is that the privileged can't and won't ever see us as actual people—just burdens.' She hadn't meant it for anyone in particular…but it sparked a conversation that lead into daybreak. That was five years ago."

"Five _years_?" Nia questioned, leaning forward. "And…your brothers don't know about her?"

Don shrugged a little. "Call it selfish of me; I didn't _want_ them to know. Don't get me wrong, I love my brothers—I really do. But…sometimes it's nice to have a break. Mel? She was my break…"

"I see…"

Nia lowered the picture into the light that shined behind Donatello like a halo. Her eyes focused hard on the features of the person photographed with a camera flash under a streetlamp. The woman, Melody, must've been in her early twenties. She had strong features—a square face, long hooked nose, and an intense blue stare, despite the smile across her full lips. Her dark auburn dreadlocks draped over broad shoulders like thick ropes from a cruise ship, and the weathered condition of her tanned skin spoke volumes of just how long she'd been homeless—perhaps all her life. There was a distinctive mole under her left eye, and after a moment more of staring, a realization hit Nia.

"I—I've met her before!" she cried, almost choking on the words.

"What?" Donatello asked. He stood from his seat and towered over the short female, who marveled at his sudden height.

"Ye—yeah." Nia leaned back for proper eye contact. "The girl who saved me from being kidnapped by Purple Dragons…this was her, Donny-san. She—she saved me."

Breathless, maybe a tad relieved, or proud—Nia couldn't quite tell what Donatello was feeling. However, some force tugged at parts of her brain and gut like the small plucking of strings, leaving her with an overwhelming emotion she couldn't call her own. She didn't know this woman as personally as Don did. So why would she suddenly feel so happy, excited…and torn?

"She's not bad," the mutant whispered. He took Melody's photo from Nia's loose grip, placing it flat on the table to stare at. "The person from the roof…isn't the woman I know. She's a shell. I _know_ Mel wouldn't take my brother. Whatever…happened to her, whoever converted her into a cyborg, they _must_ have her under some form of mind control. I'm _sure_ of it! She wouldn't…she wouldn't do that to me…She wouldn't…" As Don's voice began to waver, his form began to shake, and Nia found her stomach in severe knots when she placed both her hands over his clenched fists.

"You, Mikey-san, and Splinter-san," she started softly, "kept a positive outlook on me when I first came here, even—even when I gave you little reason too. So, I'm with you Donny-san. If she's someone who you regard so highly then she couldn't possibly be bad, and I know you'll get her back—the _real_ her." Tears could no longer be kept at bay; they slid down the mutant's cheeks, and Nia's grip tightened. "Whoever did this to her, wherever she took Leo-san, you guys will make right. I'm _sure_ of it."

"Arigatou," Don choked out. Then he hung his head and sobbed.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, Hugh is gaining a bigger role. I'm okay with that. And I have to say, this Nia and Don scene is one of my favorite scenes of the whole book. Girl already acts like a sister and can't even see it. Next we get to check up on LEO. So, you want to know? FOUR reviews, folks! :D


	9. The Black Lotus Organization

**Author's Notes: **I LOVE MY REVIEWERS! _You_ guys keep this story going. :) Duckiepray, MysteriousFeather, ssj2luke, and faeelfdragonmage, thank you.  
ssj2luke \- Raph and Nia...No comment. Just. Prepare.  
MysteriousFeather \- Many, what seems like, small roles are bound to be expanded on books later. It's how I roll. Heh. I'll be doing a cameo in this book of Mikey's girl, too. ;D And I'm a sucker for Sister Nia/Brother scenes. Glad you enjoyed it, even if it was bittersweet thanks to poor Donny baby.  
DuckiePray \- Bathing a cat is no fun...but Hugh is. We won't mention Raph. *twitch*  
faeelfdragonmage \- Of course! You guys are valued. :)  
**Warning:** The end may be a little disturbing to the faint of heart.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 09 - ****Black Lotus Organization**

All Leonardo noticed at first was the pain—a deep, burning sensation in his torso that wouldn't let up. It made breathing hard, especially since he lay on his plastron. As he tried hard to swallow moisture that wasn't in his mouth, he almost retched at the unadulterated rank stench that hit his senses next. The best way the mutant could describe it would be like rancid meat dipped in cheap perfume. One thing was sure, not even the sewers when they were backed up from a heavy downpour smelled as bad as this scent that lingered in the air. He tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on lifting his body from the cold, dusty floor. He did so with much effort and pain, and by the time he sat upright against some sort of wall, he felt winded.

'_Kuso_,' the Jonin thought, trying again to swallow. '_My ribs are definitely fractured…and_'—his shaky hands felt around the smooth, pebbly skin of his naked elbows and knees then his bare face— '_as I thought, my gear's gone. Heh. Like I would expect them to keep it with me…whoever they are…Who's talking?_'

With a shuddering breath that led to another lurch at the air's retched smell, Leonardo forced his eyes open. Blackness met him before the blurs of monochromatic grays then finally the focused picture. A cell. Of course. Leo's legs ran the whole width of it, and its depth wasn't much longer than that. The metal walls of twin wire mesh—which reached the high ceiling—were perhaps the only factor saving it from being claustrophobic, and the mutant was the smallest bit thankful he could see through them, though the images beyond were distorted by an inch-by-inch grid.

"Look, our new roommate's finally up," a deeply sarcastic voice echoed about the walls. "Welcome to the club, turtle freak. Sorry we ain't got no welcoming baskets; they tend to frown on a surplus of food and comfort around this joint."

Leonardo hissed from the sharp pain of standing and neared his cell's door. His burning vision roamed over the occupants in many other cells that lined the massive concrete hall they were a part of then settled on the cell directly ahead. There, a pale-skinned male with strong facial features and a scowl sat against the concrete wall behind him—on a bare cot, which ran the cell's width at the back. Matted locks of wavy, medium-brown hair clung against his head in distressed heaps that ended below his jawline and gave him the presence of a barbarian weary from battle. His breathing was unsteady as he laughed bitterly, but the human wouldn't let on to any weakness.

"Wh—where…am I?" the mutant managed to say before a coughing fit racked his sore body.

"Paradise," the brunette answered as if Leo were the dumbest creature on the planet. The Jonin's eyes were quick to narrow at what little of the human's smug smirk he could make out, though a long sigh from the right had his head turning to the next cell over.

"I would tell you to be reasonable, Donald," a second man interjected calmly, "but I know I would go ignored. So, I'll simply say, shut up."

Donald, as he had been called, only huffed in return, laying down on the cot that was much too small for his tall, well-built form. For a moment, Leo thought the man's white outfit—a form-fitting one-piece with three quarter pants and short sleeves—had been a full suit, until the recessed light above the cot revealed the distinction between Donald's pale skin and clothes.

"Sorry about him," continued the second man.

Sighing again, he regained the attention of Leo, who leaned closer against the cold metal of his cell door for a better look. This second man was just as pale, though clearly older with wrinkled, Chinese features; he spoke with the same experience Splinter used when addressing his sons and sat on his cot with the ease of someone who knew their lot in life. He, too, wore the same outfit as Donald—which didn't compliment the man's somewhat-overweight figure—leading the mutant to believe it was actually a uniform.

"I'm Joseph Kim," the man added when Leonardo said nothing. He ran a hand through his side-slicked salt-and-pepper hair—a habit that must've been common since the locks seemed rigid in their pose. "The kid to my left is Donald Horton. You learn to take him in stride."

"Fuck off," Donald added without moving.

"Anyways," Joseph started, clearly controlled, "You're in Hall F."

Leonard's eye ridges knitted together. "Hall F?"

"F is for 'failure'," interjected Donald with a morbid laugh.

"_Donald_."

"What, _Joseph_? It certainly can't stand for 'fun' or 'freedom'."

"It doesn't stand for anything." The Chinese man sighed. "It's probably just the sixth hall this company has."

"We're…in a company?" Leo inquired, trying hard to keep any trace of fear from his tone. The uneasiness in his stomach worsened as Joseph nodded. "Which one?"

"They called themselves the Black Lotus Organization," the older man replied. When he ran his hand through his semi-long hair again, it trailed down his body to rub his right leg, which the mutant noticed resembled nothing more than bones wrapped tightly with discolored gauze.

Leonardo frowned. "You don't seem"—he panted—"afraid of me."

"Well, you've been here two days," Joseph remarked. "We've had time to settle into your existence…though the speaking is a surprise."

"Two days?" Groaning, the Jonin began scanning for an exit along the concrete walls. "How did I get here?"

"The cyborgs brought you back from a run; put you in that cell under Lombardo's orders."

"So that's what they are…Is Lombardo the company's leader?"

"No, she's the scientist for our division. We don't know who leads."

"Was anyone else brought with me?"

"Just you. Why?"

"Nothing…maybe they saved them." Leonardo stepped back from the door, a reserved scowl on his face. "How can you tell how long it's been? There aren't any clocks or windows. There's barely any ventilation."

Joseph situated himself further up on the cot's edge, saying, "They keep the hall around seventy Fahrenheit and we haven't suffocated yet, so there has to be ventilation somewhere. My guess is that it's someplace not easily accessible…which makes sense. Lombardo checks on us twice a day, once in the morning and again at night. The lights above us are UVB. They serve as our sun, if you will. She turns them off at night. She should be here shortly for that, actually."

"And for once, thank _God_!" remarked Donald in a sour tone. "Matthew's been making me want to hurl all day."

"Matthew?" Leo questioned carefully.

"The heap beside Joseph's cell," the brunette answered. "Lovely Cell 1-F. He's only been rotting for _hours_!" Donald ensured his last word echoed loud and long, as if it could reach beyond concrete, and the Jonin felt bile rise in his throat as he finally realized why the hall smelled so bad.

"Matthew came in after Paige, before you and that little girl to your right," Joseph explained, words casual—like this sort of thing happened often. "He was…"

"Annoying, is what he _was_," added Donald. "Always screaming for freedom, moving around like a maniac. Bet Doc caused him to fail on purpose."

"If there's one thing we know, it's Lombardo isn't looking for failure," Joseph countered. He touched his hair again.

"But that's what she's going to get," a new voice contributed. It was soft—barely above whisper—and full of a prisoner's expected misery.

Leonardo drew his gaze from Joseph to a neighbor at his left. Another uniformed figure sat on the concrete floor, curled in the far corner away from the door. Though her back faced the mutant, it was clearly an African-American female with robust curves and a wrapped stub for a right arm. Her black ringlets looked far more distressed than Donald's hair, and the amount of defeat in her form couldn't be missed. Leo watched solemnly as her head lifted a bit—perhaps glancing at the cell to Joseph's right—before it dropped back into place.

"We're all going to fail at one point or another," the woman continued. "It's what we deserve."

"Like hell it is;I don't deserve to be here!"

"_No one_ deserves to be in a place like this!" Leonardo said over Donald's outburst. He glanced from the three adults to a little figure in the cell by his right then, after a slow inhale of rancid air, he turned back to the woman. "I'm sure what you're sayingisn't true."

"Yes, it is," the woman countered—slow and far more miserable than before.

Hiss! Click! Clank! Leonardo's next statement was cut off before it began. His head twisted towards the east wall, which had looked seamless moments ago. Now, a gaping hole—perhaps large enough to fit a van through—glowed with blinding lights from beyond.

'_The door rolls into the wall,_' Leo thought, eyes on the thick doorjamb made from a foot of concrete, steel lining, then another foot of concrete. '_That's why there aren't any hinges or doorknobs. It must have hydraulics on the inside that collapse; making it fit…This is serious security to have. Just how big is this organization?_'

"Place him in cell twelve," someone said—a female, by the sound of it. And she obviously was displeased.

The harsh clacks of high heels beat against concrete for a while before Leo drew his attention away from a red-cloaked figure shoving a hunched body into a cell at the far end of his row. He was soon met with a pair of deep blue eyes outside his cell door. Their owner—a slender woman with a pointed, upturned nose and pulled-back orange hair—stood confidently in a woman's business suit, arms behind her back. The UVB lights didn't flatter her pinkish skin in the least, but that couldn't possibly have been a concern of hers.

"You're finally up," she said with ease. "I was beginning to wonder."

Leonardo huffed. "You must be Lombardo. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm stronger than that."

"Oh, there's no disappointment," the carrot-top remarked. "I saw how strongly your brother held up in Bishop's lab. I believe your kind of variety could be beneficial for the company's goals."

"His…lab? You mean you were there when—"

The woman snorted. "It's a good thing Miss Gray picked you up, even if you were the only subject she brought back."

"Miss Gray?" Slowly, the mutant's eyes drifted to a tall female dressed in a familiar red-cloak. She stood a yard or so behind Lombardo and her impassive expression—covered partly by reflective metal and a soulless robotic eye on the right side—never once let up. Not even when Leo glared at her, recognizing her as the blonde woman who had planned to ram full force into Donatello not long ago. "Are you working for Bishop then?"

"No," Lombardo answered in clear disdain. "I did what I needed with the EPF then left. Working years for that man was nothing short of hell."

"Hell? And yet you turn around and do something like _this_"—the Jonin removed his arms from the pressure they were applying to his ribs and spread them—"to others?"

"I admit, it's a little disorienting at first," the woman added casually. "But the Black Lotus are _above_ the EPF."

"Sure looks like it," remarked Leonardo bitterly. The topic was cutting into his patience quicker than he would've liked, but, really, he couldn't help it—not when he looked around at the defeated people in cells like lambs for the slaughter.

"Who the fuck are the EPF?" Donald interjected. Calmly, Lombardo and Gray faced his cell, where the brunette had left his cot and now stood with his toned arms over his barrel of a chest.

Lombardo approached him, saying, "They're an organization that seeks to prevent a problem that will never happen. They're a waste of resources, and the grueling time I spent as a mole there was torturous."

"That's a lot of trouble to go through for someone who thinks the organization is a waste," Leo contributed, though the woman barely glanced over her shoulder before lifting up a clipboard that must've previously been kept behind her back.

"Yes, it was," she replied after producing a metal ink pen from her breast pocket. "I had an awful hard time keeping cool while watching someone go through great lengths for a paranoid expectation. Plotting so-called counter attacks; organizing every species on Earth; torturing a man for answers…" She scoffed and clicked the pen open. "It's was tasteless."

"Says the woman who herds us in cages," Donald remarked with a sore smile of unappealing teeth. Though Leonardo couldn't see the look she flashed the young man, he got a feel it wasn't sweet.

"While you're up, Donald," Lombardo started as she poised her pen, "would you like to go first?"

"Oh, if you _insist_," the brunette answered. Both his actions and tone portrayed false excitement and extreme condemnation. "Let's see; none, part of your gruel, hot, reasonably pissed, and, oh, yeah—nauseated the _fuck out_ with Matthew's body! So, if you would be a dear and _remove_ it, I'm sure a lot of us would be better off."

Lombardo sighed while jotting down a note. "So he didn't survive..."

"Uh, can you not _smell_?"

"Actually, I was born without the sense of smell." Honestly, Leo couldn't tell if the woman was serious or not. "Thank you for telling me, Donald. Now, I'm going to finish my surveys. Miss Gray"—the carrot-top turned to the by-standing cyborg—"before we leave, could you please gather Matthew's…remains?"

Melody never nodded; she simply neared the hall's west end like a mindless puppet and opened the cell. Leonardo disregarded Lombardo altogether as he watched the cyborg work, pushing his face against his cell's door for the best glimpse. Unlocking the far cell was less difficult than the mutant had expected for Hall F; it was as simple as keypad on the front with a nine-digit code that Melody plugged in within two seconds. Once its mesh door creaked open fully, then the blonde strolled in.

Leo couldn't make out what she did while in the cell because of the distortion from Joseph's mesh walls. He could only see blurs of red through the wires that were accompanied by sickening snaps like the breaking of sticks and the occasional crunch like she were stepping on bags of potato chips. When the cyborg exited the cell, she held a heap in her arms—a heap half her size that Leo swore was petrifying and shrinking the longer he stared at it.

It didn't look human, not in the least. It didn't even look like an animal. It was just…a collection of parts. And it stunk so bad.

'_Did she…compact the body like trash?_' Leo thought, knees weakening with the dropping of his stomach. Suddenly, he felt very lightheaded.

"Thank you for…that," Lombardo said from somewhere. "You know what to do with it. I have the night surveys ready, so you can join Miss Fall and Mister Nass with Doctor Stephens; see if he needs anything. I'll be at my desk, trying to work out the bug I thought had been beaten with Matthew…You. Hey. _Excuse me_."

The mutant barely had the mind to face Lombardo before him.

"What's your name?" she asked, plain. "Bishop would ramble on about you at times but…I forget anyone other than Michelangelo."

Leo stared at her, calm, and the woman scoffed after many seconds.

"Fine. I'll simply add 'turtle mutant' to your cell's nametag. Now, I bid you all goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."

"Can't wait," remarked Donald from his cot. He raised his hand for a rude gesture, but the woman's heels were already clicking towards the hall's door. She disappeared into the harsh light there, leaving Miss Gray to follow.

The cyborg hesitated, though. For another long moment she stared into Leonardo's face—as if assessing him or perhaps comparing him with something. It was so hard to tell because of the lack of emotion in her eyes—organic or not. She looked dead, and if she had never moved, the mutant could've mistaken her as doll. Whatever thoughts raced through her mind, she kept them hidden and then finally moved.

"Wait!" Leonardo called to the cyborg's receding figure. She did so after another step, but didn't face him when he continued, "When I unmasked you on the roof, my brother seized up. _Why_?"

There was another pause.

"I do not know," the woman answered, walking forward again. Even so, a small, bitter tinge in her tone convinced the mutant otherwise. "Maybe a past regret suddenly overcame him. Goodnight, Leonardo."

And the lights went out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Next up, "Cyborgs". Mikey, Angel, and Raph track down possible leads and we get our first glimpse into Melody's mind. To read it, review! Four or more. ;)


	10. Cyborgs

**Author's Notes:** That's the quickest quote yet! LOVE IT! As a reward, here's another!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 10 - ****Cyborgs**

Flailing, Nia tried hard to gain Donatello's attention. The genius, however, continued his way from the Lair's stair base to the couch without so much as flinching. He fell back onto the couch cushions unceremoniously and a long sigh escaped him as he rubbed his naked face slowly. Nia frowned—watching him sit there—then stepped towards the beaten couch. The ninja didn't raise his head at the sound of her slippers scratching across the floor or the hand she waved in front of his spaced face.

"Donny-san?" she asked. This time when she waved, chocolate brown eyes met her, their sclera bloodshot.

"What are you doing here?" Donatello countered softly.

"Um," Nia smiled weakly, "well, I—I can't bring myself to go back to Daddy's, so after work I stopped there then came back. I brought my clothes, and Daddy gave me money for the Subway this time, so…" After a blink, Don glanced over Nia's outfit, which was nothing more than an over-sized gray sweater over rainbow tights. She hadn't felt very keen on fashion since Leonardo's capture, and switched out her work jeans for pajama shorts as soon as possible.

"Wait, you've been to work already?" The ninja suddenly straightened his form, but just as soon slouched again. "What time is it?"

"Around ten," the pale young woman answered. She tucked her thick, black hair behind both her ears and tried hard to keep smiling, though Don's downcast look stabbed her gut. "Mikey and, uh, Raph called their friend and went out over two hours ago."

Donatello sighed, gaze on the oriental carpet of the living room. "Friend? Didn't they tell you a name?"

"Well…Raph said friend. Mikey told me it was Angel. Sh—she was there when Leo was taken, right?"

"Yeah, but _he_"—the olive-skinned mutant stopped himself—"whatever. I should be out there, too. I'll call them."

"_No_!" Nia suddenly spurted, pushing Don back onto the couch. She froze under his shocked stare, silent, and instantly felt a heat rise to her cheeks and ears. "I—I—I'm sorry, Donny-san," she added softly. "It's that—I—you—you should have something first. You shouldn't be running around the city with nothing in your stomach."

Donatello raised an eye ridge. "Nia, you hardly ever eat."

"M—my erratic eating isn't in question right now. After all, I'm not the one running around on rooftops, fighting cyborgs. Uh, you should—you should really have something. I don't—want you hurt. How about some coffee?"

"That's fine; I'm not hungry," said Don insistently. He tried to rise again, but Nia placed a gentle hand on his plastron.

"Please." Her smile was weakening. "I barely got Mikey and Raph to eat something. Even if it's just a drink, it's something. I—I'll be right back." With a nod, the human left Donatello where he sat and entered the kitchen. To her relief, Splinter already stood at the stove, boiling water for his own drink. She approached his four-foot figure in haste, and once his black eyes met hers, she smiled pleadingly. "I need something for Donny-san."

Splinter's whiskers twitched a bit as he replied, "What do you plan to do with my son?"

The heat returned to Nia's face. "No—nothing weird!" she explained, though softly. She began wringing her hands. "He wants to join his brothers and I don't think he should. He's barely functioning. He came down half-dressed, and I can tell he must've cried himself to sleep—like Mikey. He had worked himself into the ground when it came to me, so I'm scared to see what happens to him now that Leo's gone and he should—_wh—what_?" Nia bit her lip at the soft expression of Splinter. A sting prickled her eyes, which worsened when the wizened rat rested a paw on her arm.

"I am simply amazed at you, is all," spoke Splinter kindly. "You are a stronger young woman than when you first arrived. I cannot help but feel honored that we are blessed with the warm spirit you had wished to keep hidden. Watching the growth of young ones is one of the most rewarding things of old age…and my sons are always thankful for support, even if they do not often show it."

"Thank you, Splinter-san." The furry mutant's smile grew like Nia's. "I…I know I can't do much, but…I want to help them, in any way I can."

"You can do much," Splinter countered sternly, removing the whistling pot from the stovetop. "Let no one tell you otherwise. And if they do, do not believe them. What do you wish to do for Donatello?"

"I want to make him something."

"You, uh"—the rat cleared his throat—"You wish to make Donatello something. As in…food?"

"Please, Mister Splinter," Nia said, "it'll just be some tea. What should I make?"

* * *

Michelangelo felt like the third wheel. He had ever since he and Raphael met up with Angel nearly three hours ago. At first, it had only been with the reminiscent conversations, but then it held true for the fighting as well. The very moment they had cornered two Purple Dragons at the Mid Town docks with questions about the Little Red Robbers, Raph and Angel melded into a tag team. And when those members resisted, their tag team strengthened.

Mikey barely had a chance to contribute one move, let alone two, since the duo was so focused on working with one another. He scowled for what felt like the umpteenth time, and twisted to face the black-clad female that jumped in with a roundhouse kick to the male gangster's face.

"Come on, Mikester, what's with the sour face?" Angel asked, bumping his shoulder with hers before continuing after the Hispanic man that had already recovered from his descent into a wooden crate.

"Yeah, this is just like the old days; get wit' it!" Raph added from behind. He did some sort of move, which landed a redheaded female by Mikey's shoed feet. She instantly returned upright by propelling her legs over her head and rolling. The orange-banded Chūnin back-flipped to avoid the strength of her boot heels then steadied his stance.

"You want to talk about old days _now_?" snarled Michelangelo. He eyed his brother, who tried vainly to land some kind of blow on the evasive redhead wielding a switchblade. "Leo's missing, Don's mind is who knows where, and you keep mentioning the _old days_? Are you _kidding_ me?"

"What, ya think we ain't serious 'cuz 'a that?" Raph questioned with a scoff. His moves were hindered by the bomber's jacket he wore, and the redhead used that as an advantage by twisting his clothes and tossing the mutant over her head with surprising strength.

"Ya know what I think?" she interjected in a light Brooklyn accent. Snorting, she held a switchblade at Raphael's throat as she leaned over his downed body like a prowling lioness. "I think ya talk too much!"

Michelangelo had already crossed the space to his brother's side by the time her next muscle twitched. Before the blade could slice its captive, the youngest Hamato slipped his hand between the female's arm and Raph's exposed plastron and hit upwards with his bent wrist. The force startled the blade from the gangster's grasp, but she produced another one from inside her short, leather jacket in seconds.

Mikey grimaced at the sly smirk she sent him as she jabbed wildly at his moving figure, leaving Raphael behind. She may've had a bit of trouble tagging Raph, but tagging Mikey wouldn't be as easy. She quickly grew bitter with how easily the orange-banded Chūnin avoided her across the sea of stacked crates, as if they were dancing a duet and he knew her every move. It didn't take long for Michelangelo to find an opening, and when he did, he took it.

In a matter of moments he placed his nunchackus back in the holster that kept his insulated pants up and dodged an assault as he slipped his right hand into a pocket inside his unzipped puffed jacket. From there—watching the short strands of her red hair pass—he whipped out a semi-long hemp rope, which he immediately began weaving around the gangster's wrists when he tripped her with an outstretched foot. Before she hit the cold ground, the ninja had twisted the knife from her, kicked it away, and bound her arms behind her back.

He didn't stop with her on her knees, though; he pushed her down fully, now binding her feet as well—which proved to be a little more difficult, given the strength of her thrashing legs. In less than thirty seconds he created a little package for the cops, and took a seat on the crate beside her while she cursed him out like a sailor.

"Look, we just want to ask you some questions," Michelangelo said. Instead of facing the redhead, however, he watched Raphael and Angel tag team against the remaining gangster, who had clearly lost stamina in his main fight against Angel.

"Dammit, Rojo!" the redhead cried awkwardly from her spot. "Will ya pull out yer gun and shoot the fools already?"

Ducking simultaneous kicks from Raph and Angel, Rojo leapt forward, slipping between the two's bodies. "Oh, I could," he answered hotly as he prepared himself to block, "if someone hadn't stormed out of HQ so early!"

"Blaming it on me? Yer supposed to be prepared!"

"So where the hell's your gun, Little Spice?"

"Well, since ya both seem so keen on talkin' now," Raphael started, slowly advancing like a hunter ready for a strike.

"Why don't you tell us what you know about the Little Red Robbers?" finished Angel with low growl. She, too, advanced across the upturned sand beside the wall of shipping containers on their right—though she had begun to side-step, preparing to take on the Hispanic man from another angle if need be.

"What's it to ya?" Rojo questioned, eyeing them both wearily.

"If ya know what's best for ya, ya'll answer." Raphael's voice dropped dangerously low, the light moment with Angel now lost like a fleeting memory.

The Hispanic mustn't have grasped what that meant because he raised his strong chin before spitting at the mutant's feet. "Go to hell, _mutant freak_," he hissed.

Michelangelo wasn't surprised when the hothead pinned the gangster's body against the rusted shipping container several feet behind them. Sai pressed against Rojo's throat, the youngest barely heard his brother say, "My sai ain't sharp, so it hurts like hell when I dig them into a body."

"Raph!" Mikey interjected. Except, his brother didn't acknowledge him in the least.

'_I hate it when he scares them like this,_' the by-standing ninja thought, '_even if they are punks…_'

"Those sons 'a bitches took my brother!" Raphael continued, deep in his accent. "So ya _better_ spill something good before ya loose what most men usually like ta _keep_!"

"We—we don't know anything about them!" Rojo suddenly squawked over Little Spice's demand for silence. Apparently, he believed the bluff full-heartedly and swallowed hard when Raph raise a second sai to the PD's groin. "I—I'm serious! With the decline of Purple Dragons off the street, Hun's been busy with his own problems. We don't have time to keep tabs on a new gang!"

"Purple Dragons are missing, too?" questioned Angel from between Mikey and Little Spice and Rojo and Raphael. She glanced back at the hogtied female, who snarled, then the hostage. "For how long?"

"It's none of your damn business." Rojo must've spoke instinctually because Mikey sensed him curse under his breath as Raph applied more pressure on the second sai. "Past month, at most. But don't worry; we have a special team assigned to the case now."

"What are ya talkin' about?" the red-banded mutant demanded.

Slowly, Rojo smirked. "You'll find out any moment now. You think with so many PDs dropping off the grid we wouldn't have a way to call for help?"

"What kind of help?" Angel added, stepping forward.

A loud 'thunk' had her pausing by her second footstep. Michelangelo glanced up, towards the containers stacked three rows high into the night air. A silhouette partly blocked the yellow light that blossomed behind it—standing with a sense of superiority—and it was with a sunken stomach that Mikey's eyes lined the details of its reflective form. Arms and legs—all made of carefully crafted metal that added much bulk to what already looked like a stocky, male figure. The mutant felt a curse slip from his mouth as the figure pushed off the wall like a rocket, landing so deep in the sand that grainy ripples surrounded his hidden feet.

"Great," Mikey grumbled with a shaky breath. He felt glued in place when the figure's head rose to reveal a pale-skinned face surrounded by the layered plates of a compact helmet. The man's eyes had been completely untouched and uncovered—unlike the cyborgs before him—so his unamused expression couldn't be missed.

"Of all the prowling PDs," he started, taking slow steps forward, "I never would've pegged you two as the ones who cry for help."

"I didn't call for anything, Hunt!" Little Spice screamed beside Mikey.

Hunt smirked at her. "Well…would you rather stay here?"

"Forget what she says and get us out!" Rojo added.

The Hispanic's cry was all Mikey's mind registered; next came a jolt of shock through his body at how suddenly Hunt stood before him. The mutant's breath left him in a quick spurt as a force knocked him hard in the plastron, sending his body spinning like corkscrew until he reached the damp sand first then a pile of crates that splintered under his weight. He couldn't cough—not at first. For a good moment he was seeking air and a moment after that, he fought to refocus his dazed vision.

In the background he heard a few grunts, a clank, a cry from Raphael, and several curses from Little Spice. When Mikey climbed out of the crate pile, muscles screaming, the gangsters were gone, and all that remained was a cursing duo taking their frustration out on a shipping container.

'_Man,_' he thought, cringing at an oncoming headache, '_I'm really starting to hate cyborgs._'

* * *

Melody Gray's vision was not as off-set as others assumed. Only one eye had been converted into a robotic replica, yes; however, that was all that had been required for its purpose. To go any further would have risked blood infections and muscle degeneration, so it made sense for her creator to stop there.

Even with this single eye she could see quite clearly, without any confusion. Under normal circumstances she kept its setting on default anyway; the other advantages—such as thermal vision and night vision for tracking, honing, surveillance, and similar likes—were only activated when needed, as all things should be. Was that thought too practical for others to understand? Or maybe Sven's presence fed their confusion since both his eyes had been converted.

Well, that was their problem.

Explanations about it—especially for the obnoxious one named Donald Horton from the Forty-Fourth Street Crew—were growing tedious. She said things once, sometimes twice, which was enough times for the human mind to store information. The fault of the information's inaccessibility lied solely with the conscious personality—not because of the inability to perform and most assuredly not because Melody spoke unclearly. Conversing with Donatello had proved this; proved how much information a mind could store in such a short time.

'_Donatello._'

Melody shook her head. No. Those days were gone. He made his choice; he showed how he felt. So be it.

Thoughts of him only surfaced sore emotion and hindered her goals. She was used to feeling nothingness by now—no joy, no passion, no jealousy, no anger, no hurt; at least, not easily. She had been created different from the others that way, and was thankful for it. Yet in _his_ presence…memories came flooding back. And she hated them. She always hated them…

"Melody?"

Melody didn't bother turning her head towards her shorter teammate. "Yes, Tabitha?" she questioned monotonously, gaze set on the thin window of a freezer room's steel door.

"Did you hear what Master Stephens said?" Tabitha Fall countered with a sigh. Still, the blonde cyborg didn't face the black-skinned woman she knew glared hard with an organic dark-brown eye. "Guess not. So, Sven and I are going to rest for a tune-up, and Stephens wants to talk with _you_ alone. We'll see you later."

Only the harsh claps of Tabitha's robotic feet against the Marmoleum floor signified her leave. Sven Nass followed suit, though his footsteps were far softer, given that his feet were hardly touched. Melody continued to stare through the little window, at a small pile of plastic-wrapped bodies leaning against the sides. A thick coating of frost had built on them since Thursday, and by now one could barely identify their forms.

"What do you plan to do with them?" the cyborg inquired the man who undoubtedly worked on something behind her. "I thought for sure you would instruct us to throw them out, given the poor targeting of our youngest squad member. Like I warned her, they have damaged their bodies through years of drug use, and Tabitha's impatience in their meth lab led to even more damage. If you wish to preserve them, a common freezer such as this is not a desirable catalyst."

"I don't plan to preserve," a somewhat distracted voice answered, "just keep decay at bay. Like you said, they were dead upon arrival; doesn't it make sense to keep them for future tests, so you won't have to bring me so many live subjects?"

"It would make sense…except dead tissue is hardly beneficial to projects such as yours, _Master_ Stephens."

Stephens laughed—a light, jolly action. Melody finally tore her attention away from the dead gang members to face her creator behind a surgical table. He barely reached the young woman's shoulders in regards to height, yet he held a strong presence and projected his voice well.

His aged, Indian features had confused her the first time she heard him talk since he lacked an accent. That may have been stereotypical of her, but it did. Were she to describe the man in one phrase, she would say 'An Indian version of Santa Clause'.

"I thoroughly enjoy your bluntness, Melody," Stephens said, his wide smile hidden behind a salt and pepper beard that bushed around his jaw and short neck like an afro. He left the project he had on the table—a mass of tissue samples—and approached the cyborg at the freezer. "In that bluntness, however," he continued, lower, "I hope you don't let anything slip. Velma, Lombardo, and the others know what they need to. Right?"

Without so much as a blink, Melody met the man's black eyes evenly. "Your businesses are each your own. President Tate has assigned me to both you and Doctor Lombardo, however. I told no one of the pick-up we planned for you. I also could not return empty-handed once Tate discovered we were out. Seeing as how you wish to keep your…extras hidden and we never return with dead subjects for Doctor Lombardo, I had no choice but to hand her the mutant."

"Yes, well…" the doctor mumbled as he pushed his half-moon glasses father up the wide bridge of his short nose.

"If I must, I could go on a solo mission to find you a live subject."

"No, no, that's fine. It's too soon, anyhow. I have enough."

"How?" Melody's real eye narrowed, and if she could activate her thermal version on her creator, she would have—to check his heartbeat. "Your last live subject came over a month ago. We have been doing many runs for Doctor Lombardo, so runs for you have been scarce."

"Don't you worry about it; I manage," said Stephens with another jolly laugh. "Now, go join the other cyborgs in rest. There's an upgrade to your arm I wish to install when you awake."

Melody bowed slightly at the man's turned figure. "Yes…Master."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So much crap to come. So much...you got no idea. FOUR reviews, guys, and you'll see some more...couple troubles. *whistles innocently*


	11. Push and Pull

**Author's Notes:** My Big Five reviewers. THANK YOU! I could'a posted last night, but I figured I'd give you a breather. LOL. But first -  
Yes, get ready to see a few sides of Melody in the future.  
Nia is a sweetheart and I feel...sorry for the future.  
More evil is to come...Sorry.  
**Warning:** End scene may be a little disturbing in description of a character.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - ****Push and Pull**

On multiple occasions, Donatello told himself to keep focused—to be careful—not to listen to outside stimuli. His soldering job required the upmost care if he wanted the right electrical flow, after all; but—though the first few reminders were effective—his mind had since begun to drift. He could no longer concentrate on crafting the voltage amplifier circuit that he studied through his magnifying goggles, so he sighed lightly at the male and female voices echoing through the Hamato garage.

"Not _that_ one, Nia," Raphael grumbled, his Brooklyn accent somewhat muffled. "The _slip-joint_ pliers!"

There was a pause before Nia replied in a squeaky tone. "We—well, what are _these_ then?"

"Those are diagonal-cuttin' pliers. They're used on wires. They ain't got the groove texture or muscle ta get this out."

"But…um…uh…"

"Come on, Nia!"

"I—I know!"

"It's startin' ta leak here!"

With another sigh, Donatello set his soldering iron beside an empty coffee mug on his work bench. He then used the heel of his bare foot to swivel the low stool he sat on and immediately set his eyes on the couple in front of a parked Battle Shell, close to the garage's west wall.

The red-banded mutant had settled his stocky body as far beneath his motorcycle as possible, to the point where Don could only see the soles of his large boots. Beside him, Nia kneeled on the cracked concrete with a dingy, canvas bag full of disorganized tools at her side. The poor human dug through the metallic mess as Raph's curses bounced off the tin walls like it was the Grand Canyon.

She pulled out two different kinds of pliers, but glanced between them helplessly. Don knew she didn't see the options as 'wire strippers' or the coveted 'slip-joint pliers', so when she glanced at him, he pointed at the right tool. She flashed a thankful smile in return before handing the pliers to her boyfriend.

"Damn, son of a"—Raphael spit loudly, hopefully away from Nia's feet—"I swear these continuous cracked gaskets will drive me up a fuckin' wall! An' can ya _please_ be a little faster next time, so I don't hafta eat oil?"

"Sorry, Raph," Nia said softly, biting her bottom lip. The hothead only grunted, and his girlfriend pushed her weight off her legs then tucked them under her gummy worm print sweater. "So," she started after a moment of grinding tools, "do you guys really plan on splitting up when you go out?"

"Yeah," answered Raphael gruffly. "We got a higher chance of findin' 'em that way."

"But…you"—the human's voice lowered with her frown—"you've already been beat twice by them. As a group. A—a—and now the Purple Dragons have a cyborg too? If—if one of you—!"

"We'll be fine, alright?" Raph snapped. He paused, though Don couldn't see what kind of look he sent Nia. "We're splittin' inta twos, not ones. Mikey's wit' Don an' I'm wit' Angel. If or when one 'a us spots 'em, then we call the others for backup before engagin' 'em."

"Oh…Angel's helping again, huh?"

"Yeah. Don 'n Mikey will be takin' the roofs while Angel an' I take the ground. She rode her motorcycle from Atlanta; hence this tune-up."

"I…see." Nia wanted to smile along with her half-hearted laugh, Don could tell, but it fell short as she continued, "She rides a motorcycle? Well, if you're planning that, then maybe I could look from the ground as well. The Battle Shell's been fixed."

A long pause followed the woman's suggestion.

"Seriously?" asked Raph flatly.

"Wh—what?" Nia countered.

"Ya don't know how ta drive."

"I've been learning."

"Ya've already crushed 'da front end 'a my Shell Cycle. As for the Battle Shell…yer lucky it's built like a tank."

"But—"

"It's fine." Raph grunted as his body shimmied from beneath the bike then sat upright. He quickly wiped the black oil off his naked face with a shop rag from nearby then regarded Nia evenly. "We got this. Trackin' an' stuff requires years 'a experience. Besides, if something happens wit' ya, ya may ruin a chance for us. Or get hurt. It's better if ya stay at the Lair wit' Splinter, where it's safe."

'_Of course he would suggest that,_' thought Donatello while Nia gave a few silent nods then a quiet 'Okay'.

He almost rolled his eyes, but instead kept them glued on the black-haired human, who stood from her seat abruptly. Her hands were clenched into petite fists, partially hidden by her long sleeves, and the florescent lights of the garage dimmed a fraction. Even so, she managed a hurt smile that her boyfriend didn't seem to understand.

"Where ya goin'?" he asked in clear confusion.

"I, uh"—the female cleared her throat—"I'm going to see Mama."

"It's Sunday. Won't visitin' hours be over by the time ya get there?"

"Oh, th—they'll let me in. I just want to see her for a little bit…"

Now, Raphael stood and neared Nia, though she took a step back. "Maybe Mikey should go wit' ya then. It's already nightfall an'—"

"That's okay," Nia butt in, stiff yet stern. She gave a mild glare that rarely ever overcame her, so when she continued to back away, sending Don a soft smile, all Raphael could do was spread his toned arms in frustration. "No need for an escort," she added. "I don't look like a target…this time. Night, guys. Stay safe."

"What's up wit' her?" Raphael questioned the moment Nia exited the garage through the back entrance.

Donatello couldn't help himself from replying, "You're such an ass."

"What?" The hothead twisted towards his brother, unobscured eyes narrowed into amber slits. "What'd Ido?"

"Four days, and that's all you can say to Nia?" Don countered with a deep frown. He jabbed a large hand at the back door, though the human was far from that general direction. "It's not fair to exclude her like that."

"I ain't excludin' her; I'm keepin' her safe!" Raph retorted as he stepped forward. "Ya remember the _time_ it took ta get the Battle Shell back on the road. She frickin' rammed it inta a building, thinkin' it was in reverse."

With his older brother no more than a foot away, Donatello shook his head then tucked his chin downward so he could make eye contact with the Hamato that stood eight inches shorter than him. "So?" he spoke strenuously. "She _learned_ from that. It's what people do, Raph, _learn_ from their mistakes. She wants to do something. Why not let her?"

"Let her do what? She can't fight. She ain't near yer intelligence."

"Yet thankfully above _yours_."

Raph sneered at the genius's scoff. "Look. She had her chance at heroism already. She spent a month wit' Bishop 'cuz 'a it. It's better if she keeps a low profile."

"Keeping a low profile is one thing," Don added under his breath. "Feeling left out is another."

"We ain't got time for"— Raphael backed away from the taller mutant, bare face twisted into an annoyed scowl—"we hafta focus on what will help Leo. _He's_ our priority!"

"Don't you think she _knows_ that?" Donatello's loud voice shook the garage like a windstorm, yet he couldn't bite down his volume or control his animated arms. "Hell, she understands that more than any of us. You should be proud she doesn't want to sit on the sidelines anymore!"

"There ain't nothin' she can do at this point. She ain't trained an' I've seen how she panics!"

"Doesn't mean you should disregard her attempts because she isn't Kickboxing Champion of the year!"

In an instant, Raphael's scowl faltered, his voice softening to just above a gruff whisper, "What's _that_ supposed ta mean?"

"It means, Raph," answered Donatello calmly, "that you should pay more attention. Nia can help in her own ways. Even when she gives you salt in your tea instead of sugar, at least you know she cares enough to try."

"Salt?"

"She mistook the jars yesterday. That's beside the point. Tell me"—here, the genius paused for a stern, pointed stare—"have you _let_ her support you in this? She's someone you can lean on, you know?"

"I don't need someone ta lean on right now," replied Raphael, low. "What I _need_ is someone ta help me kick these cyborg asses 'til they spill where they took Leo."

Don briefly shook his head as his stubborn brother returned to the Shell Cycle. "Don't do that, Raph. You'll end up pushing her away. And you'll regret it. Trust me."

"What? Ya sayin' she'll end up like yer cyborg girlfriend?"

"Hey, guys!"

As if jolted from a trance, Donatello took a staggering step backwards when Michelangelo's light voice rung out. A pit settled deep in his stomach before the little brother reached him; he realized, without knowing it, he had prepared himself for a swing at Raphael's back. And he found that very disconcerting.

"Guess greetings are out of fashion," Mikey added from beside Don. He sighed. "Whatever. Do either of you know what's wrong with Nia? I passed her across the street, but she wouldn't stop to talk with me."

"I dunno what's up wit' her," Raphael immediately answered. The defensiveness in his voice no doubt stemmed from the pointed look Mikey must've sent him, and Don sensed the youngest Hamato roll his eyes.

"Sure, Raph," the orange-banded mutant said, tone flat. "I'll talk to her later. Right now we're waiting for a call."

"From who?" asked Donatello. His head had already risen by the time Mikey eyes turned on him, so he wordlessly bit down his momentary break and collected himself with a breath.

"Hugh." Mikey removed his plush jacket. "He called a little while ago, and I told him to call back—so I could come to you guys."

"What does he wanna talk about?" Raph injected.

Jacket tossed aside, the youngest faced Raphael. "He called us with a question. He wanted to know if we were there during that meth explosion, so I, uh…I told him about Leo."

"Kips Bay isn't Hugh's division; why would he be investigating it?" Don added to break the small silence that had settled in.

"Something about a guy named 'Doughnut'?" Michelangelo shrugged. His wide mouth opened to continue, but the insistent ringing of his Shell Cell cut off his words. In a matter of seconds, the mutant retrieved the device from his pants pocket, flipped it open, and answered the call with the speaker mode on. "Hey, Hugh," he said loudly.

"No need to scream, Michelangelo," Hugh's voice retorted as Mikey hunched his shoulders.

"Sorry; you're on speaker so—"

"I can hear."

"Right. Sorry."

A tired sigh crackled from the phone. "I won't bother with etiquette. I've been meaning to contact you guys since Thursday, but it's been a mad house around here. I hear the same applies to you. I'm…sorry."

"Now we both have someone we're looking for," added Mikey grimly.

"Speaking of," Don said, "have there been any leads on the little girl, Hugh?"

"From what Mikey's told me, it's the same lead as with Leonardo."

"Ya mean a Little Red took her too?" Raph asked. He neared the duo huddled around the Shell Cell, yet kept a good distance from Donatello.

"Apparently," said Hugh, low.

Don leaned closer to the phone. "How do you know?"

"Blaine and I tracked down a reliable source. It wasn't easy, either. I'm glad we had help."

"Was he that hard to catch?"

There was an inquisitive pause before Hugh added, "Not necessarily. I was just…having an off morning. A, uh, nice young lady helped grabbed him. Pretty thing; dark hair, tan skin and the leg power of a kangaroo. But I must say her strength was kind of frightening."

"Did she tell ya her name?" questioned Raphael quickly. Donny grimaced as the hothead waited for an answer as if he were listening to the final score of a Hockey game.

"Angel. She said her name was Angel…Why is Raph chuckling?"

"We know her," Mikey answered sorely. Somehow, he managed not to glare at his amber-eyed brother. "She's an old friend. Raph's _ex_. She's helping us find Leo. Can we move on?"

"Alright, Michelangelo, alright." Hugh paused, mumbling something Donatello couldn't hear. "Anyways, she helped us arrest him, we took him to the precinct for interrogation, and he explained that he saw Kaiya around two blocks from her house. A Little Red came across the back lot and he watched her abduction."

"He didn't help?"

"Kenneth's a…he's an easily frightened kid, Michelangelo. He told me Purple Dragons have been disappearing off the streets as well, so I'm not really surprised he—"

"Wait"—Raph raised a hand, though he couldn't be seen—"yer source is a Purple Dragon?"

"No," the human countered, slow and careful with the tiniest tinge of offence, "my source is a kid named Kenneth Miles, who can be bullied into anything because he has no sense of himself. He's never lied to me, so I trust his word."

"He's still a Dragon."

"And you're a mutant. Would you want me to judge you on that?"

Raphael grew silent.

"Thought so. I've since made him Damien's roommate. He didn't want to be back on the streets."

"Damien is?"

"The Purple Dragon who kept April from being hauled off to Hun, Donatello."

"That's right. You think Kenneth wants to go straight too?"

"I think he doesn't know what to think. Damien will be good for him, though. Anyways"—a long sigh crackled over the line—"I was calling on behalf of that explosion and to see if you guys had any information about the Little Reds."

"Bet you got more information than you bargained for." Mikey tried to keep his voice light, yet the joke sounded dark anyway.

Hugh chortled. "I've gotten more than I bargained for since the day I met you guys. But, seriously, I think we should work together on this. What was once a robbery spree is now connected to a kidnapping spree."

"And the kidnappings aren't tied to a particular type, either," Donatello noted. "We know for a fact Leo, a homeless woman, and a child have been taken by the same affiliation."

"That isn't counting the Senator's missing daughter, the other missing homeless, and now even gang members. And it doesn't stop there. A woman has been coming into my precinct every other day to try and file a missing persons report for her older brother."

"Trying?" Michelangelo repeated.

"I say that because she keeps being denied. Her brother has a mental retardation and at times he'll leave her house. She's filed at least three or five before now. The Inspector tells her he'll return like always and then sends her off."

"How long has it been since he's gone missing?"

"A week. But apparently he's been gone a whole month without contact before. The boys over in Jersey found him."

"Still…" Mikey scoffed, unable to continue.

"I know," Hugh said lowly, "I don't think its right either, but I'm already pushing my luck with the Inspector. Besides, the FBI agents are getting nosier since the Senator requested them. I just can't help wondering…what's the purpose of kidnapping these people?"

"We can't answer that for all of them, but"—Michelangelo paled while catching Donatello's gaze—"we know what happened to at least one person who went missing."

"You do? What?"

"Uh…you've heard of a cyborg, right?"

* * *

How many hours do you feel you slept? What have you eaten? What are your current symptoms? Do you feel worse than yesterday? On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your current pain? Each and every one of these questions was asked by Doctor Lombardo twenty-two times a day—once in the morning and again in the evening.

She asked them even to the prisoners who hadn't been removed from cells for experimentation. Leonardo felt doing such was part of a psychological battle plan; like it was a way to remind them all they were part of Hall F and those in the deterioration stages would be the future of those currently untouched.

The Jonin hated it—from the stagnant atmosphere and nauseating lights to the defeated faces he stared at for hours and hours at a time. His body was beyond sore. He had no cot because of his size. And Lombardo seemed very keen on keeping him sedated just enough that moving felt like more effort than it was worth. It'd been two days of misery filled with headaches and mystery gruel, so he could only speculate what the others felt like, having been captured long before him.

'_To think Star's here too, if she was taken by them,_' Leonardo thought, succumbing to his heavy eyelids. '_They have no hope. They won't make it if they don't believe. Donald, Abigail, Joseph, Quill, Paige, everyone—They've got to see…this isn't helpless…I refuse to believe that. They should too…_'

Rap. Tap. Leo lolled his head towards the right. Slowly, his eyelids opened and he smiled lightly at the wide, amber eyes that stared back at him through the mesh wall.

They were lit with horror, but he knew that fear didn't stem from him. If it had, the small girl wouldn't have curled up in the adjacent corner in which Leonardo had settled. She wouldn't have layered her thick locks of wavy, blonde hair so no one but the mutant could see her frightened expressions. And she certainly wouldn't have reached her little fingers through one-inch-by-one-inch holes to touch his hand on occasion. When she turned to him, it was for comfort, which only baffled the Jonin.

"Hello," he said in a hoarse voice. "Are you going to tell me your name today? I've already told you mine."

At first, the little girl paused like many times before, but after a moment, she opened her mouth, saying softly, "My—my name's Kaiya Williams."

"Kaiya… That's a very pretty name." Leo's smile grew as the blonde's pale face grew red with a blush. "How old are you, Kaiya?"

"I'm seven," answered Kaiya. Her voice grew the slightest bit louder and she kneeled closer to the cell wall that divided mutant from human.

"And how did you get here?"

"I was…taken. By a lady in red."

"The same one that comes with Miss Lombardo sometimes?"

Kaiya shook her head as a small shake settled into her bones. "The—the other lady. The black one with two metal feet and flies. I was…running from home and she grabbed me."

"Wait?" The Jonin straightened his seated body, though the process reawakened the burning in his ribs. "Why would you run from home?"

"Because Daddy doesn't believe me!" the little girl suddenly exclaimed. Tears welled in her eyes like glistening gold and they fell in small, gradual trails when her shaking intensified. "He—he doesn't want me. He's always mad at me…because I like ghosts an—and monsters. He told me"—she sniffled—"he told me they didn't exist…and yelled at me. He wishes I were someone else."

"I'm sure that's not true," noted Leonardo before he paused, struck by a thought. "Tell me, is your daddy's name Blaine?"

"Y—yes," Kaiya answered with her brows furrowed. "You know my daddy?"

"No," the mutant replied as the little girl wiped away some tears.

"Then how do you…?"

"I know your daddy's friend, Hugh."

"Uncle Hugh?"

"Yes."

"But"—a pout settled on Kaiya's face—"Why wouldn't Uncle Hugh talk about you? He knows I would be excited. And—and he could've told Daddy and then—!"

"I'm sorry," Leonardo interjected, barely lifting a hand for silence. It immediately dropped. "He couldn't do that. Neither can you."

"Like she would be believed," added Donald. The Jonin faced the brunette only because his scoff brought new tears to Kaiya's eyes. "And that's, ya know, if she's able to make it out of here alive. Which she won't."

"_Donald_," Joseph said as a firm warning from his cot.

"Only the fighters will survive, Joseph; you know that."

"Matthew fought."

"Fine then"—Donald laughed bitterly—"the _strong_ fighters will survive."

As Joseph sighed, Leonardo spoke up, glaring into the cell ahead, "We all can survive, even those who you deem weak. If someone can't keep up then it's the duty of the stronger ones to pull them along. Since you're so sure you're going to live, you should hand out some of that strength to the others."

"What for?" Pausing, Donald approached his cell door so he could stand tall as he glared down at Leonardo. "Nothing was ever given to me. One thing life's taught me is that if ya don't fight for it then ya don't deserve it."

"It doesn't matter how hard you fight," another voice said from the cell on Leo's left, "some battles…you won't ever win, no matter how hard you try…" Donald didn't bother regarding the black woman with a look; he simply rolled his eyes then headed for his cot.

Leo, however, joined Joseph in facing the middle-aged Abigail Bryant with an even expression. She had uncurled her body from her usual corner—to look at Donald—so for the first time, Leonardo noticed the terrible condition of her dark skin. A reddish-purple rash wrapped around her shins and only arm to the right side of her face, its texture glossy and wrinkled. Parts of it had flaked to revealed raw, pink flesh beneath, yet most of it looked bubbled like the outside of a burnt marshmallow. The resemblance was so strong, in fact, that Leo felt uneasy watching her drag her legs across the concrete to face him; he feared the skin just might fall off in heaps.

"You speak so positively of things," she continued miserably, "but there's a reason you're here too. We all have reasons. We deserve it."

"I've told you before"—Leo's voice rose—"_No one_ deserves to be in a place like this. Not even Donald."

"Gee, thanks," Donald said mockingly.

Abigail didn't glance up. "Believe what you will, but I'll accept my fate."

"You can fight too, Abigail," the mutant countered. While picking his stiff body off the ground may have been hard—especially with a pair of golden eyes seeking comfort—Leonardo managed to kneel at the wall that kept him from the woman's slumped form leaning awkwardly against the cot she never used. She met his eyes with little hesitation, and Leo quickly noted her right eye looked bubbled shut, useless and painful.

"What would I fight for?" she asked.

Leo hesitated, frowning, before he answered. "How about your hopes? Your dreams? Your _family_? There must be something—anything—you would survive for."

"I have nothing. I could barely afford a room at night with the money I made on the streets. My body…could only earn so much, especially once the Meth settled in it." Here, Abigail flashed a short, sour smile. "Not even desperate men wanted me. My husband didn't want me. I have no one to return to, no one I want or who wants me. That's why we're chosen. Because no one wants us. No one will miss us. Lombardo believes it's merciful that way."

"Merciful?" Leo scoffed as Abigail's vision dropped. "Lombardo is poisoning your minds. There is someone out there who cares. There's someone for _all_ of us."

"Not anymore; I got my someone killed."

"…What?"

Sighing, the African-American rolled her body back into her usual position, saying softly, "I made a mistake. She relied on me, and I failed. That's why everyone left. That's why…I deserve to be here. This is my punishment."

"No, that's not true," countered Leonardo. He sent Abigail a stern stare, though she remained unmoving. Soon, Hall F grew silent and Leonardo made his way back to Kaiya's waiting hand. "I understand failure, believe me," he continued, eyeing the little fingers that sought his own. "No failure requires this kind of recompense. Just wait. We'll get pulled out of this pit…I promise."

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**Author's Notes:** And we slip a little more and more...waiting for the big drop. FOUR or FIVE REVIEWS, PEOPLE!


	12. The Unwanted

**Author's Notes:** Five reviews, THANKS ALL! :)  
Duckie \- You know...you know. *sigh*  
Feather \- Heh, this chapter shows your right for a se-shutting up. Leo. Yes. Love how he is with Kaiya. And someone else later on. ;)  
D'Fuentes \- Nia's the long-suffering type. She doesn't crack easy, so when she does, she blows. I could make points about that and her father, except it would spoil future chapters. So. This is the start of madness...prepare yourself.  
ssj2luke \- Raph's behavior may seem erratic in comparison to that time, but there're new variables in the pictures to consider. Like Don lying about Melody (which he's pissed about, understandably), the stress of Leo being taken, Angel's arrival, and currently unknown things. It'll make sense as the chapters unfold. You'll get an answer. Just, not now. ;D  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 12 - ****The Unwanted**

Every florescent light in the East Harlem Outreach Hotel flickered, and there wasn't anything Nia could do about them. It wasn't for lack of trying. For a good half hour, she had attempted to distract herself by drafting two new models across the stucco wall that had become her long canvas. Yet for the first time in her life, she found no sanctuary within her work.

Remnants of a conversation in her mind barely allowed her pencil to move. And when it did, the face it crafted was that of her boyfriend—not the parrot-faced older lady from the flyer she was supposed to be re-drawing. Erasing the mutant took little time, thankfully—especially since the action had been backed up by a bit of fury—but after failing to draw the model a third time, the young woman abandoned her work completely in favor seating herself at a little, round table in the room's far back corner.

She kept her back facing the loud activity behind her. Even when murmurs went around about insufficient power and poor wiring, she still stared at the grimy, peeling wall ahead of her. Her breaths came with difficulty and she could feel a flood of people's Chi filling the open area—prickling like static electricity in her veins as she sought some form of focus. It took all of Master Splinter's advice to keep the lights from bursting, but she feared the feelings would overwhelm her anyway.

'_Breathe, Nia,_' she thought, gripping tightly onto the generous hem of her large sweater. '_Focus on that. Focus…meditate…don't think about—_'

It was too late; her mind already wandered to what had happened in the Lair nearly four hours ago…

_Bile stung Nia's throat. There was no stopping it—not anymore—and she could only be thankful she managed to choke down the urge until entering the little bathroom at the hall's end. Honestly, it felt as if liquid fire was being poured into water below her face, and her hunched body heaved, ceased, relaxed, and then repeated again and again—until all that remained of her dinner was a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. _

_Gasping for air over the toilet bowl, the woman didn't dare move. First, she waited for the oxygen to refill her lungs. Then, she rose to her shaky legs, flushing the toilet as she did so. Her moves were sluggish when she turned on the faucet, but after rinsing her mouth and splashing water on her sweaty face, they grew more alert._

"_Oh…yer up, Nia?" a gruff voice questioned._

_Nia—lifting her head from the small, cracked sink—turned to the bathroom door. "Raph?" she asked hoarsely, squinting in the poor light._

"_Yeah." Raphael didn't enter the narrow room (probably because he would only trap the human), and instead opened the door wider, revealing his bare, bruised face. "Ya preppin' for an early mornin' shower?"_

"_You know I love my crazy-hour showers," Nia replied before thinking. Immediately, her vision fell on the sink as her boyfriend arched an eye ridge._

"_Everything alright?" Raph questioned. And while he didn't step forward, Nia could sense his arms cross—an action that only fed the lingering discomfort she had abruptly woken up with._

"_Huh?" she said dumbly before reminding herself of her location to rid her conscience of unwanted images. "Yeah. I, uh, just had to…pee. And the sleep in my eyes was bothering me. Wh—what about you?"_

_Now Raphael moved; he back-stepped far enough that Nia could exit the bathroom, all the while avoiding eye contact. "Oh, I," he paused, "gotta pee, too. So…"_

"_Ah." With a little smile, Nia gave a nervous chuckle, stepping forward. When she reached the doorjamb, though, she halted with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Doing so lifted the hem of her nightshirt above her comfort level, but a new wave of nausea kept the young woman from caring. She soon burped—much to Raphael's amusement—then took a deep breath while focusing on the scratches on her boyfriend's battered plastron._

"_Told ya ta be weary 'a Mike's mystery pizza," noted Raphael lightly._

_But Nia didn't smile. "I would say the same to you, but you didn't eat any of it. Is that…?_

_The mutant briefly glanced down at the reddish-orange bile trailing down his plastron before swatting away Nia's pointed finger like a fly. "It's nothing."_

"_That's not true," the human countered as she met her boyfriend's amber gaze. "This has happened before. In September."_

"_Nia."_

"_Did you…have a nightmare like then, too? Because I—"_

"_It ain't yer damn business, okay?" Raphael snapped with glare._

_It was clearly defensive, like Nia was a stranger all over again, and she took a step back in her silent shock. "But…I'm your girlfriend," her small voice managed. "You—you don't have to be embarrassed. I mean, I—"_

"_I ain't embarrassed!" the mutant interjected heatedly. "It just ain't somethin' worth talkin' about."_

"_Why not?"_

"_It just ain't. So can ya please vacate the sink area?"_

"_No."_

"_No?"_

"_Why do you do that?" Tone soft, Nia stepped closer into the semi-shadows that her sour-faced boyfriend stood in. He wouldn't allow her to touch him, though, so she quickly stopped trying. "Is this supposed to be fair?" she asked with a frown. "You push me to test the limits of my comfort zones, yet—yet won't let me do likewise. Why?"_

_Raphael scoffed. "What's that supposed ta mean?"_

"_You don't…tell me things."_

"_I tell ya _plenty_ 'a things."_

"_Except the deeper stuff I want to know! Like what happened in July. How you feel with Leo missing. Don's secret." Pausing, Nia tried again to touch Raphael's arm. Again, she was swatted away. "Why is it so hard to open up with me?"_

_The mutant shook his head at her pleading tone then scowled. "It ain't my thing, alright? I can't—It's better if I handle these kind'a things _alone_."_

_Alone; the word sent a faint surge though Nia's body. "Really?" The stocky mutant remained silent in his mild glare, so Nia collected herself with a breath. "That's not being part of a family, Raph…or part of a relationship. But if you'd rather rely on yourself, then fine." Her very intention was to head back to her bedroom; yet, Raphael caught her slender wrist in his monstrous grip before she could achieve such a goal. When the black-haired female faced him again—flinching from the ache in her joint—his bare face curdled into a scowl._

"_Look," he said in exasperation, "I don't know what ya want me ta say. I've never been asked by Angel ta 'open up' before."_

_With an impassive expression and tense jaw, Nia instantly replied, "Well, I'm _not_ Angel. We've talked about nightmares before, so I thought…this time you would actually tell me about it. Or them…And I would tell you about Bishop from my memories."_

"_Wait"—the grip around Nia's wrist fell—"I thought ya said…ya didn't remember anything."_

_Smile tart and tone even, Nia slowly backed away from Raphael's confused expression. "Yeah, well, it's been coming back. It's just…gotten worse since Leo-san…Doesn't matter, though. 'It just ain't somethin' worth talkin' about', right?" Her bitter smile grew along with the pit in her stomach, but she disregarded the reawakening nausea, turning her back on the mutant with a long sigh. "Good night, Raph."_

Nia hadn't gone back to bed afterwards. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. So, instead, the young woman had closed the curtain door of her bedroom and waited for Raphael to return upstairs before dressing in work clothes and heading for Harlem early. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to forget.

_'No matter what, I can't get his words out of my head,_' thought Nia with a heavy chest. '_If feels like all I've been hearing is how Angel can do this. How Angel can do that. Don't bother, Nia; Angel can handle it. Angel. Angel. Angel! What if I _don't_ want Angel to handle it?_'

Pausing for a huff, the female began stretching her sweater's hem slowly yet tightly. '_What if I want to handle it myself? What then? He acts like I should stand aside and wait, when I can't! He's the one that taught me it's best to contribute when possible. So why won't he let me?_'

Rip! The tension swiftly loosened between Nia's pulling hands. She didn't stop her assault on her clothes, however; her grip of them is what kept her Chi from discharging. '_He didn't start acting this way until Leo was kidnapped and...Angel came...Why does he have to bring her up so often? I can tell she wants to help, but I feel like Raph..._'

The young woman sighed as the pin and needles in her body gradually eased. '_He's right about one thing...I can't do a lot of things she can do. But he won't even take into consideration the things I try to do...Maybe if I were a bit more like her, then he would talk about me like that too…I wonder what she looks like..._'

"Are we making a belly shirt?" a silvery voice questioned. "Forgive me, Miss Brown, but I thought you were more modest than that."

Nia tried not to groan as she faced her boss, but failed. "It—it was…an accident, Mister Baker," she said softly to the pale-skinned man that stood beside her seat.

"We have spare shirts, if you need one." George's reply left him without hesitation or ridicule. The dark irises behind the pudgy wrinkles of his sunken eye sockets sparkled with a concern Nia had seen him show everyone, and she shook her head at his pleasant smile and the gentle hand he placed on her shoulder.

"That's okay; there's undoubtedly someone else who needs the shirt more than me."

The man's age spots seemed to dance across the wrinkles of his aged face as he laughed. "I knew I would like you," he spoke when his laughter died.

"You did?" Clearing her throat of the squeak it just made, Nia eyed George's bundled figure while he took the remaining seat at her right. "How—how? Last week I—I could barely talk…to you."

"You talked." Even at her deadpan, the old man didn't cease smiling.

"I said weird things."

"Now that's not true. I never knew Leonardo Di Vinci invented the high-heel, and I'm always up for expanding my knowledge. So thank you, Miss Brown. I'm glad you showed me your true colors. Many others would've hidden themselves under a guise they thought I would want to see, to seek approval. But it's the genuine ones whose company I enjoy the most."

A heat rose to Nia's face leaving her lightheaded where she sat, but she somehow managed to keep eye contact with George. "I…I honestly don't know how to hide myself anymore," she said, soft. "Not even a year ago, I could've…Then again; I probably wouldn't have come to a place like this at all. My mother's taught me the value of generosity, but…"

For a brief moment, the old man's smile faltered. "Well," he started, equally as soft, "then you've grown. I'll tell you a secret"—he leaned in close, though instinct backed Nia away from his garlicky breath—"I believe the changed ones are the strongest. They have more of an appreciation for what they do and what they believe. And I can tell you believe strongly in what you do."

"I've had good people teach me," the young woman replied easily. George straightened back up with a similar difficulty to how Splinter moved, and Nia's arm reached for him before she could stop it. "So—sorry."

"Old bones in cold weather," said the pale man, sanguineous. "But I wouldn't wish to be young again. I enjoy being the 'wise old man'." Nia giggled—she couldn't help it. And the smile on George's face lit up even more. "And so the gloom lifts. That's good; a frown didn't suit you."

"Oh, yeah." Nia paused. "Sorry about that. I know my work's all over the place."

"I always have an open ear, Miss Brown. I live to listen to the struggles of others."

"Thank you, Mister Baker, but…"

There was a pause.

"I understand," said the old man. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Actually"—the young woman reached towards a pile of flyers on the table, successfully keeping her boss in his seat—"I wanted…I wanted to know a little more about these people."

"All of them?" questioned George with a teasing smile.

"Eventually, yes," Nia answered. Her words must've stunned the man because his eyes grew glossy and his round chin hung slack. She smiled lightly at him when he drew in a shaky breath then laid six flyers on the table space between them. "I wanted to know why these flyers have the words 'unwanted' written under them."

"Oh, that." George sighed, glancing down at the nearest flyer. "I've told Veronica to be on the lookout for that kid."

"Kid?"

"We don't know his name, but he's a local that worms his way in here from time to time. Most days he writes nonsense on the papers. Tasteless comments. These six, though"—the pale man paused to point at each face—"aren't random. He's fought with them before…on this property."

Scooting her chair closer, Nia pointed at the unfocused picture of semi-tanned Caucasian with wild, dark hair and sunken features. "This one was shown on the news."

"Yes. That's Peter Baily. He…didn't take any of my advice."

"To?"

"To stay away from Meth and that gang man Larry Pacheo."

"He was the second man that died."

"Yes," George mumbled. "He was."

"And this one"—a thin figure directed to another picture—"the girl with long, auburn dreadlocks. What do you know about her?"

"That's Melody Gray." The man answered as if remembering a distant dream. "She…is a special case to me, honestly. And these six you've picked have history. So"—here, George gave Nia a small, calm smile, "let me tell you about the 'unwanted'."

* * *

Livino Veldés Mejía, also known by his gangster alias 'Rojo', didn't think he could withstand any more rants. At first, he had found them rather seductive, especially when he played into them. But now they were a constant part of his life that he'd heard time and time again. He didn't need to listen anymore as the hot-blooded redhead stormed from one side of their cluttered bedroom to another, kicking things in her wake.

He instead kept his mind entertained by tracing the perfect curves of her black tank-top and hot pants until he noticed her toned body turn towards him. Only then did his attention land on her tanned face, meeting her deep blue gaze evenly.

"I'm gettin' tired of them, Livino," she said with a heated snort added to her light Brooklyn accent.

"So ya've mentioned," the Hispanic replied, Mexican accent forthright. He remained composed on the bed, even when an old boot hit the peeling wall beside him.

"Hunt impressed me," the woman continued sorely, "but I clearly let him know where he stood in the Dragon ranks, in relation to us—me! I can't believe Hun's given him so much attention since September. The little bastard _stole_ my spot!"

Thick eyebrow arched, Livino dodged the splatter from an old food container his girlfriend chucked. "Amanda, he's also broken us out of jail and saved us from those mutant freaks. Speaking of which, we should tell boss one of them is missing and the connection with those Little Reds, don't ya think?"

The woman disregarded his question, screaming, "None of that would'a been necessary if I hadn't been pushed to the back of the line!"

Livino sighed. "What are ya talking about? There _were_ others ahead of us—guinea pigs. Remember the midget, Shortstack, and his squad? They pulled maybe ten heists in September before the infection killed them. We both agreed waiting for the right time was best."

"Our time is _now_." Amanda dropped the broken alarm clock she held in her hand with a loud clatter then twisted towards her boyfriend, scowling. Her soft steps towards the full-sized bed were slow—wonderfully slow—and Livino smirked as she crawled over his reclining body on her hands and knees in a way that he loved. "The bugs have been fixed," she half-whispered as he ran a worn hand through her short locks. "There are no more infections. The company finally lived up to their part of the deal. And yet"—her scowl intensified—"Hun keeps us from bein' a full part of were supposed to get first dibs. Not Hunt. Not Switchblade. Not Pierce. _Us_!"

Livino's hand trailed down his lover's warm cheek. "They're still flawed."

"I don't care," the redhead hissed. "That power was supposed to be _mine_."

"Ya mean Hunt's power?" Amanda simply stared and Livino scoffed. "Working under Dragonspot against that Forty-Four Street Crew chick certainly has given ya a complex." Swish! In an instant, the thin pressure of a blade pressed against the man's neck. But he only smirked at the glare he received.

"That unwanted bitch has _nothing_ to do with this." The pressure increased. "Besides, yer no better than me. Ya stay calm around Dragonface, yet ya plot to take his place."

"Yet unlike ya," the Hispanic started, not bothering with the knife, "I know how to wait for the things I want. Ya should learn, too. Like I said, they have faults. Do ya want to be shutdown often because yer power needs recharged? Personally, I'm not too keen on a life where someone can simply turn me off like a light switch."

Amanda giggled darkly, leaning beside Livino's head to whisper huskily in his ear. "Then I guess…I'll just have to make sure I'm an advanced model."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, those 'guinea pigs' were the jewel thieves Mikey mentioned and were fought in "Taking Sides" from _Finding Balance_. :P  
Next chapter, "Failure", Melody resurfaces, the team tries a plan, we get back to Leo, and things get worse. FOUR REVIEWS and it shall be unlocked.  
Also, if I'm posting too often, let me know. I get antsy, so if one a day is best, I can contain myself. :)


	13. Failure

**Author's Notes:** Big Five. That's now your group name. If you were a superhero team, that's what I'd call ya. THANKS!  
Yes, Raph and Nia problems. And the bomb is indeed TICKING.  
More of Mel will gradually be revealed. I'm evil, I know.  
Gavin's an ass. Yes.  
Also, I'll be leaving for vacation this upcoming week, so there will be a period of 9 days where I won't post. :)  
**Warning:** End scene is not for the faint of heart.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 13 - ****Failure**

With a scowl on his lips, Donatello faced Raphael. "Yes. Raph," he said morosely. "I think it will work."

"Ya haven't even tested it out," the red-banded mutant retorted. He kept pace beside his running brother, but for the sixth time in the past half hour, he glanced over the up-turned, fleece collar of his bomber jacket.

"Will you _stop_ that?" questioned Don, his scowl growing and voice lowering.

Raph faced him again. "Stop what?"

"Looking at Angel; you're going to creep her out."

"I'm just makin' sure she don't slip on all this snow."

"Maybe you should show some of that concern towards your _girlfriend_ instead."

"Damn, Donny." The sai master rolled his eyes, though the action could hardly be spotted beneath his fully wrapped scarf and beanie. "I ain't cheatin' on her."

"So? What you're doing is just as bad. Have you even talked to Nia about Leo missing? Not told her—_talked_ about it." When a puff of foggy breath escaped as Raphael scoffed, it took all of Donatello's control not scream. "It's been a week and you haven't—"

"The last thing I need ta do is sit an' talk," the shorter mutant interjected while sneering. "Talkin' about things won't make 'em better; _actions_ will! Angel—"

"I swear if you make one more mention of Angel's field work being superior to what Nia can do, I'll test this invention on your ass _myself_." The genius' tone could barely be evened, and in all honestly, he no longer tried—just like he could no longer keep his own sneer at bay. "You can't compare the two; they're as different as day and night. One's a kickboxing champion; the other's an artist. One's your _ex_, and the other is still with you even after you've been such an asshole to her."

"What are ya talkin' about?" Raphael growled, creating more little clouds. "I haven't done anythin' ta her."

"You've been practically avoiding her. If you spent more time together or paid closer attention then—"

"Leo ain't got time for that, Don! We can't hang around right now."

"Yet that hasn't stopped you from hanging around with Angel."

"Only 'cuz we're able ta patrol together!"

"We both know that _isn't_ true!"

"Uh"—Michelangelo's voice carried from a few feet behind—"are we invited to this little Pow Wow or what?"

Stopping to turn around in one-inch-deep snow was easy. Facing the two people behind on the rooftop was hard. Donatello's features eased, though he couldn't be sure of the looks he gave everyone. For a moment, his eyes drifted to the city horizon that had been blanketed, grayed, and partially obscured by the season's first snowfall. But after settling his emotions, his gaze fell on Angel.

"I heard my name," the tanned-woman said a little uneasily. "Are you mad at me for something, Donny?"

"No," Don immediately said to the human dressed warmly in all black. "Not you."

"Geez, what'd Raph say this time?" added Mikey. He pulled the somewhat slack excess of a royal blue coat closer to his form, frowning.

"Angel"—Don spoke over the start of Raphael's sentence and only continued when the human's warm, brown eyes met his own—"do you believe in different kinds of a strengths?"

"That's sort of a funny question to ask," Angel countered, a groomed brow arched.

The genius sent her a small smile. "I know. But can you answer it? We've been there through many of your stages; from wanting to be a Purple Dragon to being a Purple Dragon to…the mess with your brother." Angel flinched. "You carry yourself a lot lighter than when you left. I can't even guess what you found in Atlanta that made you this way."

Silent, the human straightened her figure, using gloved hands to tuck locks of purple-dyed bangs behind her pierced ears. "I found lots of things there," she said after her pause. "Some of which I never would've thought possible…So, yes,"—her gaze darkened—"I do believe. Why?"

"He said something about Nia again, didn't he?" Mikey's question sounded more like a grim statement. And he glared hard at the eldest brother in the group.

"Nia…she's Raph's girlfriend, right?" asked Angel while she failed to snap her covered fingers.

Donatello grimaced at his red-banded sibling, saying, caustic, "The fact that you have to ask leaves me baffled, Angel."

"I've tried to ask about her. Except Raph side-steps the topic. Yeah, it's weird since we used to date, but…I kinda wanna know."

"Sounds like Raph," the youngest Hamato noted tartly. His neck stretched beneath his orange scarf as he turned his back against the trio, facing the dense snow drifting across the monochrome horizon instead.

Angel didn't leave much time for anyone else to reply before she released a vapor cloud along with a short, sardonic laugh. "Yes, Mike, it does. What's he trying to avoid this time?"

"When did this become an intervention?" snarled Raphael. His large boot crunched in the snow whilst he stomped and glared. "I ain't avoidin' anything; I'm just keepin' focused."

"And he still makes up excuses, too." Angel's head shook.

"Look." The hothead pointed at the human then the genius with his bare hand. "If we're gunna get Leo back, we can't worry about this—especially right now. Our current concern should be whether or not Don's glove-thing will work!"

"Like I said, I could test it out on you," Don said caustically.

"I'm game," injected Mikey flatly.

"How does your invention work?" The three males ceased their glaring contest when Angel spoke in light exasperation.

Don knew she was as aware as him that the topic wouldn't be settled without hours worth of arguing, so he shared a sympathetic smile with her, saying, "It's basically a Taser."

"And it has to be a glove because?"

"It's easier to keep a hold of."

Pausing, Donatello raised the three-fingered hand he had slipped into a specially-made glove before leaving the Lair. Many of its components were pocketed in a section of water-proof material, but the pressure of its volume pressed the inside fleece against the back of Don's palm. When he flexed the hand, the hidden wires hardly stretched, preventing the genius from forming a true fist.

Still, he smiled. "See the prongs on each finger? Those are for the positive and negative charges. Some gloves have been made with one barb on each finger, alternating between positive and negative; however, given the distance of my fingers and the strength of our opponents, I deduced the weapon would be most effective this way."

"I suggested an EMP," added Raph.

Angel sent him a pointed stare. "Really? That would probably kill them. Then where would you get your intel?"

"Thank you, Angel," spoke Donatello while raising his hands into the snowy air. He then took a deep breath and continued, "My best guess is that the cyborgs are crafted from some form of steel or iron. What grade is beyond me. Steel conducts very well, so this should stop them...at least long enough for a talk."

"Yeah"—one of Raphael's fists met with a smack against the open palm of his other hand—"They'll break an' tell us where Leo is!"

"I don't want to break them!" Don blurted loudly. His chest tightened at the diverse looks he received, though he kept his attention on the hothead's dark scowl. "I don't know who the others are," he continued "but I know Melody. I can talk with her. I just—I've got to get her to remember."

"That damn chick took Leo an' ya think ya can reason wit' her?"

"You aren't talking about Melody Gray, are you, Don?" Really, the tall mutant couldn't face his human friend—not when she used such an indignant tone. "_That's_ who that was? Shit. No wonder you've left her nameless when we talked about her."

"How do you know her, Ang?"

Angel didn't glance at Michelangelo. "You're telling me you two—"

Donatello froze. The sudden sound of metal grinding against wet concrete sung behind him. He didn't bother facing the opponent whose silver-colored fist left a large depression in the snow-covered rooftop when he slid to the side; nor when a black boot tried knocking him out with a precise, steep sidekick from below. The purple-banded mutant barely had the time to push Angel into the snow—away from his fight. He took quick leaps backwards, each time avoiding some sort of punch. This gave him enough time to power up his glove and watch with a frown at the fury that animated the black-clad body barreling after him.

"Melody!" he cried. Still, she didn't stop; she left another depression where he once stood and his landing was unsteady due to the rocky debris it dispersed. "Melody, I know it's you! You don't have to hide your face!"

The figure paused, robotic arm wrist-deep in the roof's cement. Slowly, she straightened. Don felt the cold air hitch in his throat as her hands lifted to the African-like mask that had been repaired of the damages Leonardo inflicted days ago. There was a soft 'click' as the side buckles released their burden and when the figure's gaze landed on him, he couldn't help staring.

She looked so different. Her tan, chapped skin—now hidden in part by metal—had paled, though nowhere near Nia's shade. It had lost the warm glow it once held, and the locks of matted auburn hair that, at one point, always fell in her way had been bleached and cut short into a crude pixie cut. The way her voluptuous form stood was not with the confidence of the experienced woman he knew, but with the listlessness of someone without a soul.

It seemed so unnatural. Even her remaining organic eye lacked the subtle emotion he had trained himself to detect. On that basis alone, the genius felt like crying.

"Mel," he managed in a shaky voice. And like a flip of a switch a fire reared in Melody's gaze.

"You have no right to call me that, Damn Mechanic!" she snapped, voice gravellier than Don recalled. When she stepped forward her heavy leg hit the ground so hard it cracked in the pattern of a spider's web.

"Wait"—nausea settled in like cement—"you recognize me?"

"What are ya waitin' for, Einstein? Tase her ass already!"

Melody shifted at Raphael's voice. Heart pounding, Donatello scarcely had the energy to move his weighted limbs. The heat from the Taser glove began burning his skin, but he kept it charged. Its crackling rung loud in his ears—more so since the jumbled noises around him grew silent—and he grabbed hold of her solid right arm in grim relief that her top was sleeveless beneath her red cloak.

The blue shock, however, didn't conduct as expected. It didn't even act as if the Taser came in contact with bare skin. The current simply dissipated. In the moment of Don's reeling, Melody managed a breath-stealing punch to his plastron with her second arm. But the genius gave thanks through the pain because of a glimpse of flesh from her arm's metallic elbow to her shoulder.

With one open palm he redirected her second punch then firmly grasped the toned upper-arm that was still organic with his Taser glove. Immediately, the cyborg's body convulsed, though her movements towards Raph were not stopped—not until the barbs detached and quickly came in contact with her neck, close to her carotid arteries.

"I'm sorry," Don whispered beside her anguished faced as she dropped on her knees. "I'm sorry."

Melody's gray-blue eye met his gaze. He knew that was a sign of absolute loathing. And its force sent him stumbling back in the snow.

"Don't let her go!" Raphael bellowed.

It was too late. The electrical charge through Melody's blood let up. She took a moment to shake her metallic body, and when Raphael charged her with his sai, she only had to duck and push her arms forward, rendering him on his carapace as she leaped behind to avoid Angel's back-kick and Michelangelo's leg sweep. Retrieving the mask she had dropped took only a second before she jumped across the roof to the ledge farthest from the group.

The concrete lip crumbled under her heavy weight like the damp construction of a sand castle, and she remained crouched there just long enough to give Don a fierce glare. Then she disappeared.

"Are ya stupid?" Raph directed towards his younger brother, now on his feet again. "Ya had her!"

"Raph, stop it," added Angel, strangely soft yet reprimanding. She approached Donatello; he could hear her footprints in the disturbed snow, as well as a snarl from the hotheaded Chūnin.

"It's taken us a week ta find 'dat chick again."

"Technically, she found us," Mikey noted. "And it seemed random. Like…all she wanted was to fight Donny."

"Maybe she did," mumbled Angel.

"Regardless," injected Raph, "how long do ya think it will be this time? Leo might not _have_ anoddah week!"

"So you plan to take Don down in your search?" Angel countered. "Can't you see how much this is hurting him?"

"Maybe that's what he gets for lyin' ta us all these years!"

"Unbelievable! I thought you guys were supposed to stand by each other, no matter _what_! Are you forsaking your brother in pain, Raph?"

There was a moment of silence—tense, filled only with heavy breathing.

Michelangelo sighed when his eldest brother stormed off with a couple of curses. "At any rate, we need a new plan," he said from behind. "Maybe another means of containment without having to keep a hold. Because that plan was a failure."

Don frowned at the unanimous grunts of approval. "Well," he started with his gaze set on the damaged ledge, "it wasn't the only failure…"

* * *

Leonardo didn't think anything could be worse than the cell he had been confined to for the past week. He had been wrong. At least in the cell the air didn't heat his body as this air did. And at least in the cell he retained partial movement of his body. But in this small operating room—this place filled with steel furniture, strange devices, surgical lights and the biting stench of rubbing alcohol–he couldn't be any more restricted. The only reason Doctor Lombardo had been able to strap him to a metal gurney was because of the sedatives she injected into him, and since then he had done everything in his power to make her job difficult.

"Take this," Lombardo said.

Leonardo snorted at the rubber fingers that forced an unpleasant power up his nostrils. "What did you just give me?" he asked after a firm sneeze. Whatever powder he did manage to force from his body was sent flying into the surgical room's stale air. But since his self-proclaimed doctor had dressed in a hazmat suit for the occasion, she walked calmly through it—right to the second figure strapped to an upright gurney across from him.

"It's Veratrum Nigrum or Black False Hellebore," she replied. Her helmet muffled her didactic tone.

"You poisoned me?"

"Don't sound so stressed, mutant. It's treatable. And that's the point. You've become acquainted with us, so its time you joined our cause."

Sneezing again, Leo cursed the leather restraints keeping him in place, saying, "You can't force someone to be a part of your cause, _Doctor_."

"Of course I can; they're useful this way."

"Useful?" The Jonin glared as the protected carrot-top loaded an injection gun with some form of yellowish liquid she had retrieved from a chilled storage place between the gurneys. "What do you mean?"

Gun now loaded, Lombardo faced Leonardo with a firm frown barely visible through the white light reflecting off the helmet's clear plastic. "What were they on the streets?" she started, even. "Homeless. Jobless. Gang members. Junkies. Gamblers. Prostitutes." Lombardo partly turned her head to the gurney beside her then back again. "Some were even too lazy to want a job. What use were they there? They could do nothing for society other than tear it down—burden it. What we do is give them the honor of serving the medical field."

"This isn't an honor!" Leonardo snapped indignantly. His struggle against such tights restraints earned him the start of a headache, a light cough, and a third sneeze. "I know about honor. What you're doing here involves nothing of the sort."

"Believe what you will," replied Lombardo in clear control. "But the truth is the Black Lotus will flourish. The medical field will be forever changed. And it will be thanks to these few sacrifices that we're able to save the lives of _millions_ of others."

"Sacrifices shouldn't be forced; they should be chosen—if they're to mean anything!"

"A sacrifice is a sacrifice; it means the same. Whether willing or not, the information I gather on them will help in the fight against diseases."

Leo's glare worsened. "So you think that gives you the right to destroy the lives of others?"

"They've already destroyed their lives!" the woman snarled. Pausing, she took a step back then twisted to inject the strange serum into the uncovered, amputated arm of the second body. The scarred stub's veins glowed faintly as the liquid traveled beneath its dark brown skin, and the doctor turned back to the mutant when the glowing ceased. "They aren't the only ones who have sacrificed, either," she added while jotting notes down on a mounted clip-board on the wall beside Leo. "I assure you, we only took those society will not miss."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" the Jonin hissed darkly.

"No," Lombardo answered, "I suppose not…But you should take comfort in the knowledge that you're now part of something bigger."

"I was _already_ a part of something great."

The carrot-top smiled wryly at the mutant's scoff. "I will return in forty minutes," she said after a moment. "Soon, you ought to be experiencing symptoms of blurred vision, headache and lightheadedness that contribute to some confusion, nausea, abdominal pain, sweating, and vomiting. That is, if your auto-immune system is like our own. Is it?"

Leo didn't answer.

"Guess we'll see. This is a simple control test. You didn't ingest enough to kill a human, so…for the sake of keeping you, I hope you aren't terribly different in that way. Keep Miss Bryant busy while I'm gone, will you?"

And the human turned. Leonardo continued his glare at her back until her yellow-clad body disappeared behind a collapsible door like the one at the end of Hall F. When the metal hissed and screeched back into place, then the Jonin directed his attention to the figure strapped to the second gurney ahead. There, the middle-age woman, who was usually dressed in a white one-piece, had been stripped down to a pair of white shorts and strapless bra. With this new attire and the bright lights, the mutant could fully see the length that her reddish-purple rash spread over her chubby body, and he cringed at the spots that slowly bled onto the floor.

"Abigail," he said softly. She didn't move. "Abigail!"

"Why do you talk so much?" the black woman replied hoarsely. Leo could barely hear her, which made him wish she would lift her dead vision from the side.

"Why don't you talk at all?" the male retorted, though still soft.

"What's the point?" The woman sighed.

"Abigail"—Leo's stomach lurched as the skin on Abigail's stub began to bubble—"you can't take this in stride. Look at what this woman has _done_ to you!"

Abigail let out a bitter chuckle as the mutant sneezed a fourth time. "It's my punishment. This is what I deserve…for failing. I'm such a failure."

Failure; a heated surge ran through Leonardo's veins at the word. "Don't say that!" He spoke so suddenly, he actually gained the woman's attention. "Failing it—it means to learn. It's…taken me a long time to find that out. Believe me; I know what it's like to fail. And to fear failure."

"Do you have family?" Abigail asked.

"Yes," Leo answered, somber.

"I don't," she continued with a scornful smile. It didn't feel directed at the Jonin. Rather, it felt like it was directed at an untold amount of memories that glossed over the black woman's non-swollen eye. "I destroyed my family…"

A fifth sneeze gave rise to an uncomfortable burning in Leonardo's throat. He coughed to rid himself of the sensation, but it wouldn't let up. It grew worse. In no time flat, the nausea Lombardo had mentioned churned up the morning gruel in his stomach, and he didn't dare move when the room slowly began spinning, pausing, and then spinning again. Abigail said something. He couldn't quite make it out until the growing abdominal cramps cleared the fog of his mind some.

"That's just the start," said Abigail, monotonous. "Wait a few more minutes."

Already, the mutant's body felt heated like by a bon fire. "What do you mean about your family?" he managed through small pants.

Abigail's vision fell to the side. "I killed the one person in the word who ever looked up to me…the one time someone needed me, and I failed her."

"How?"

"I told her to get out of the car."

"Wh—who?"

"It was the wrong side..."

"Abigail, gah"—the cramps contracted his body—"I don't understand."

However, Abigail no longer seemed to be listening. She began mumbling and escaped tears from her good eye joined the blood spots below her. The veins in her amputated arm started to glow again—this time far brighter—and Leonardo choked down bile when the bubbling skin popped like boiling lava, revealing a clump of new, lighter cells behind it.

It had to painful; Abigail's sardonic laughs throughout the small room were soon laced with anguished cries that sounded jumbled in Leo's mind. The mutant tried focusing on her form, but his blurring vision and swimming head left him with only shapes to interpret. He stared hard at the swirl of yellow glow that meshed with the black skin of the woman's arm, which grew longer and longer.

'_It's growing back_,' he thought, wishing with all his might he could curl into himself. '_Her arm is growing back._'

Just when the progress reached Abigail's forearm, it stopped. The glow dimmed then faded, leaving in its place an almost reddish color like her rash. The woman's cries died down, yet Leo didn't see how. The new growth of her arm retracted violently as if it had been bathed in acid. A regrettably familiar stench seeped into the air—rancid meat dipped in perfume—and he could hear it, the acidic crackling of muscle and skin being eaten alive.

How could she only laugh at that? How could she almost sound relieved when the retraction spread past her arm, seeking to devour the rest of her body as well?

"Darrius—was—right," she said through sobs. "I deserve—to be punished—for failing Tina."

"No! Abigail!" Leo's hot body screamed and struggled against the many straps over his body. He succeeded only in wobbling the gurney before his muscles ceased responding all together. "You aren't a failure!" he continued sincerely. "We make mistakes, but—but that's what they are. You _can_ be forgiven."

The woman simply smiled, grim, with a far off expression across her disfigured face. "It's…fine."

"It's _not_ fine!" The retraction now started to eat up the woman's neck, her torso—the mutant could see the black shape collapsing into itself and smell the decay that followed. He was left with no choice. "Lombardo!"

"It's all fine," Abigail muttered under Leonardo's panicked shouts.

"Someone get in here!"

"This is…what I want."

"Dammit! You _have_ to hear us!"

"It's better…I deserve this."

"Someone help!" Now, Leo's voice cracked. And the infection worked its way down Abigail's body.

"I'm…a failure."

"Help her, _please_!"

"I hope…my baby forgives me."

"Help!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** These people frustrate the hell outta me (mainly Lombardo and Raph right now). I mentioned this is just the start, right? Anyways. Drill: FOUR reviews or more. Next chapter is "History", where you lean more about Melody, Hugh's struggle to help the Williams family stay sane, as well as what happened between Raph and Angel!


	14. History

**Author's Notes:** Big Five love (LOL, dragon)! And welcome, Ravenashess!  
Raph hasn't even *censored* yet. Will say no more. Just know I sympathize. And twitched writing his scenes...  
**Warning:** Some cursing.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 14 - ****History**

It'd taken two calls from Raphael to convince Angel Bridge to meet him. And those were the two calls she picked up. The other three she had ignored simply because she didn't want to speak with the hothead. After his actions towards Donatello last night and the way he still avoided speaking about his girlfriend, she couldn't bring herself to look at him without wanting to bash his face in with a bat.

Even so—like many times before—he eventually convinced her with his persistence. Perhaps the small amount of temperance she had gained in Atlanta also helped since she found herself more willing to listen to the mutant than she would've three years ago. Or maybe it was a mix. Either way, she had slipped into her leather coat lined with flannel, left her grandmother's condo, and headed for Pier Sixty-Four on the Hudson River Park at his request.

The temperature wasn't as chilly as the previous night, but the leftover snow had accumulated from the on and off flurries throughout the day. By the time Angel reached the deserted pier, it was well into the early morning. The smoggy sky harbored no stars or moon, so the only lights guiding her down the walkway came from double lampposts that lined the snow-covered grass space down the center. Reaching the end, she leaned her arms against the metal railing then looked across the Hudson River view with a small sigh.

'_He's got five minutes_,' she thought while fingering a special trinket in her left hand. '_Any more than that and I'll push him into the river…_'

So she waited. For eight minutes. And true to her word, the moment she heard footsteps behind her, she pocketed her trinket then whirled, ready to grab the bubbly texture of the mutant's bomber jacket she knew he would be wearing. But he evaded her grasp completely and ducked before popping up at her side.

"I ain't a mugger!" he exclaimed in his gruff Brooklyn accent.

"I know," Angel replied, eyeing him coolly as he leaned sideways against the railing. She noticed he didn't bother with a scarf tonight, yet kept his beanie—which made sense, given that he hated winter attire's restrictions. "So," she started after a pause. "You apologized to Donny?"

Raphael huffed, but didn't move. "Yer gunna got inta that already? Wit'out even a 'hi' first?"

"Hi, Raph," the tanned woman said, straight-faced. "Have you apologized to Donny?"

"Geez."

Angel glared at the mutant's rolling eyes. "Yes, I _am_ still pissed with you about that."

"I gotta right ta be upset, Angie; he fuckin' _let_ he go!"

"First off"—the human directed a stern finger towards Raph's scowl—"we're getting along alright, but _don't_ use that nickname on me. Second, you can't fault Don for that. None of us can. The metal didn't conduct like it was supposed to. The plan _failed_! Besides, he obviously really cares about Gray, so this situation's got to—"

"It shouldn't matter!" Raphael interjected cholericly. And Angel shook her head in disbelief as he pushed his bulky form away from the railing. "She took Leo; she _took_ our family. She's our enemy an' he should _treat_ her as such!"

"Feelings can't be shut off, Raph!" Angel bellowed in response. "I don't know what kind of history Gray and Don have, but it obviously means something deep. And this"—her voice dropped into a harsh whisper—"this hurts him. God, it hurts him so bad, Raphael. When we left that rooftop, I thought he would cry. Yet you refuse to see it. Why?"

"Whatever history they got," Raph started in a low tone, "it apparently don't mean shit ta this 'Gray'. It actually looks like she's got a vendetta against him." The hothead paused then gave a hollow snort. "Maybe we could use him as bait."

Angel's boot crunched as it took a sudden step back. "Are you kidding me? Why are you being so calloused? Even for you, it isn't right!"

"What?" The ninja shrugged a little. "Mikey 'n I would be there too. It ain't like I'm suggestin' we throw him ta the wolves."

"No, you're just throwing him to the _cyborgs_!"

"Not all of 'em; just one. It may be the only way ta find her again; by lettin' _her_ find Don."

"Would Leo let that plan fly?"

"Well Leo ain't here, is he?"

"No, he's not. And he won't ever be again unless _you_"—her gloved finger jabbed the mutant hard in his shoulder—"get your fuckin' act together!"

Raphael's eyes narrowed, but Angel stepped forward rather than backing down. "I ain't the one lettin' leads go," he hissed.

"But you are the one hurting your family," the woman whispered back. She ensured every ounce of venom she could muster seeped from her tone, more so for her next words, "What kind of older brother does that? _Mine_ didn't."

Instantly, the amber glare faltered. Raphael's severe features eased into faint regret at the remnants of a dark time Angel wished vaguely to forget. She allowed him a moment of recollection before she took another step in the snow, folding her arms like a parent about to scold their child.

"You're making enemies of your allies," she continued, even. "Mikey can't stand this side of you—with reason. Don's trying his best to remain collected, but he probably wants nothing more than to fall apart. You can't say none of that bothers you."

"We gotta find Leo," Raph quickly added—as if the thought would leave him or be overlooked and forgotten.

Angel could barely hold his gaze. "Which will only happen if you guys work together. If you're to work as a team, you need to take the time to understand what's going on with it. You _need_ to help Don."

"Help him what?" A flare reawakened in the mutant's gruff voice. "He's always criticizin' me about relationships. What can I possible have ta offer him?"

"A shoulder to lean on is a good start."

Raphael scoffed. By its sound, though. Angel could tell she was reaching the ninja. "And ya grew inta an advice guru when?"

"Just recently in Atlanta," Angel replied with a weak smirk. "Told you I found things I never thought possible…among them being the ability to grow into a person I could feel utterly content with."

"Ya had confidence before."

The young woman shook her head. "I was confident, but not…content."

"Not even wit' me?" the male asked, low.

"I'm lighter now, with what I found in the years"—Angel gave a smile and tried hard to ignore the hurt in Raph's gaze—"You've found something, too. But won't share it."

"We—well that's…" The mutant turned to grip the railing—an action which the kickboxer soon followed.

"I'm perfectly fine hearing it," she said while shivering at a cold breeze. "It's been three years. So where is she now?"

There was a pause before Raph answered over the Hudson's waves. "She's wit' her mother, spendin' the night."

"How long will she be there?"

"Why?"

Angel smirked at the ninja's side-glance. "No reason; curious. How'd you met?" Raphael turned away, though the female held onto her smirk. "Okay, fine. Mikey can tell me a better story anyway. So, I know she's an artist and someone you've helped. Mikey mentioned something yesterday about her gathering intel on the cyborgs at work. Can you at least tell me about _that_ since you kept killing the topic?"

"It's just…weird ta talk about. Besides, Mikey persistence was gratin' on my nerves."

The tanned woman hummed. "I know that Hamato trait."

"Anyway," Raphael started while scowling, "her boss at the homeless center, George Baker, told her some things. I know she's tryin' ta help, but I don't see what she learned as groundbreakin'. She only picked out six flyers graffitied wit' the word 'unwanted' for him ta tell her about."

"Flyers?"

"Missin' person flyers. They're part 'a Baker's…collection. One of 'em was a guy from that meth explosion."

"Oh?"

"His name was Peter Bailey. Apparently, the wife he thought never cared about him reported him missin'. Nearly a year after he was banned from the shelter."

"For what?"

"Theft and drugs." When Angel raised an inquiring brow, Raph continued. "After Bailey's wife kicked his ass ta the curb and he lost his job, he found himself in the shelter. Nia says Baker's got a real big heart, so he spent quite a bit of time tryin' ta get the guy back on his feet. But Bailey didn't seem keen on helpin' himself; he'd rather wallow in his pain.

"At the shelter, Gray an' her two friends, uh, Sven Nass 'n Tabitha Fall would butt heads wit' him at times, cause scuffles. Yet George kept hope. Until _drugs_ became involved."

"Don't tell me," Angel started.

"Ya bet," Raph said as the human groaned. "He made contact wit' Sharon Hamlin 'n Donald Horton."

"Of all the drug dealers in the city." The woman scoffed.

"The first time George found 'da drugs, he gave Bailey the chance ta excuse himself," the mutant added. "They were flushed down the toilet, but that didn't stop him. His debt wit' his dealers continued ta rise. Ta help pay it off, he began stealin' things from the oddah shelter members."

"Jackass."

Raphael nodded in agreement at Angel's disgusted huff. "This happened over the course of four months or so. By the time Bailey grew desperate enough ta steal drugs, Horton 'n Hamlin came lookin' for blood. At the shelter. Long story short, Bailey sought refuge there an' Gray 'n her friends fought the crew on their grounds. George, apparently, ain't one for violence, but he told Nia he was proud of Gray, proud ta see her defend the place. She didn't give a damn about Bailey—especially since she confirmed he'd been the one stealing—but she made damn sure those two kept away from the shelter."

"Gray did that?"

"Accordin' ta this George fellow, yeah."

"That's—that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

Angel leaned further on the railing, exhaling a long cloud. "Because," she said, vision set on the churning black of the Hudson, "the Gray I remember that Dragonface kept trying to recruit was far from protective. She was selfish and rude and cut-throat—the perfect type for the criminal life. But she regarded gangs like they were inferior to her, and that was coming from a woman who'd been homeless all her life. Her attitude infuriated Dragonface; to the point where he placed a secret hit on her."

"A hit?" Raph echoed in mild surprise.

"Yeah. Can't say how it ended since by that point I was more focused on"—the woman blinked away the intense sting in her eyes—"Well, I don't see how you think that info's useless. The story gives you insight into your opponent."

"Except it's a totally different side 'a her."

"Exactly." Stepping back from the rail, Angel twisted towards Raph, her jacketed-arms animated as she spoke. "She's grown into someone _worse_ than she was before. And to know _why_ that is, we need to look to Donny. He was devastated she still had her memories, which means there had to have been a period where she got better, where she and he…" She drew in a short breath. "If you help Don sort out his side of things then together you may be able to sort out Gray—convince her to tell you where she took Leo."

"And if she don't _want_ ta be sorted out?"

Angel's arms lowered under Raphael's grim glare. "Then we would've tried, for Donny's sake. Think about it, Raph. We can kick PDs around all day, but in a battle of strength against cyborgs? We're going to lose. A psychological battle may be our best bet."

"Ya've changed," added Raph suddenly.

The tanned woman seized as if paralyzed. The statement had been plain, frank. But it hit her deep in the gut, and she needed three seconds for her mind to process the reality of Raphael's even stare.

"Atlanta," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from cracking. "It's been for the better. I'm still Angel; I'm just…a more complete version of her."

"Interestin' way ta put it."

"Well, it's true. My word of advice is to let the new people in your life influence you as well, Raph. Like your girlfriend. Then you could feel this complete, too."

"Angel"—the mutant half-grunted, half-sighed then crossed his arms—"My bro is missin'; I got other stuff ta focus on."

"You don't have to focus on it," Angel remarked solemnly, "just let it happen."

"Yeah, well…"

Ring. Ring. Repressing a sigh, Angel produced a slim cell phone from her jacket pocket. She didn't bother with the caller ID, and so gave Raph a small smile as she answered and quickly told the person on the other line to hold.

"Just think about what I've said," she told the mutant with the phone clenched against her chest. "I'm going home now, so night." She vaguely heard Raph mirror her words when her back turned. But, honestly, she wasn't paying him much mind anymore. "Hey," she said when the phone reached her ear, "You home already?"

* * *

"I see. Thanks, Damien. Night." Hugh dropped the headset of the apartment's hard-line phone back onto the body's switch hooks. Its sudden clank brought the attention of two men onto the detective's weary face, and he slumped into the worn, cloth fabric of the short couch he sat on, rubbing his tired eyes gently.

"You were able to get a hold of Hanson _this_ late?" Hugh knew Kyle Erlich had spoken; the pitch of Kyle's voice exceeded Blaine's by a few notes, so the dark-skinned man didn't bother facing the man before replying.

"It was a small matter of requesting an impromptu cell check to get him up. I only needed him for a few minutes anyway."

"Can you really ask that of the prison?"

"Don't question it, Kyle," Blaine added listlessly. "I've known him longer than you and still don't get his connections."

A weak smirk drew up the corner of Hugh's prominent lips, yet he refused to open burning eyes. "I'm just a people person," he said, light. He heard the heavy steps of Kyle's boots draw closer to the couch.

"Such a people person that you can magically confirm some of George's missing folks are involved in the Little Red Robberies?"

"That was a…hunch from some friends," Hugh managed under the ribald sting in the older man's tone. "Relax, Kyle. I know you've been working hard with homeless connections and their enemies; it's plastered all over the walls of your place here."

"I don't like the homeless being made out as the bad guys."

"I know."

"So what did Hanson say about the reports the flyers unearthed?" injected Blaine, short.

"Well," Hugh started, "first off, the only ones officially reported as missing persons are Peter Bailey—now dead—and Tabitha Fall, who was reported missing by her parents almost two years ago. Fall and her friend Sven Nass—who didn't show up in the database at all—don't have official criminal pasts and Bailey's only been booked with petty thefts. The brown haired kid, uh, Donald Horton and his crew member Sharon Hamlin, though? Their records go back to the ages of _ten_. They showed a pattern of violence and greed and wound up in Juvie for two years, until they turned eighteen. Their records grew from there."

"And what about the other woman, the one your source said they _knew_ was one of the robbers?" Blaine was growing restless; his voice said as much. So Hugh gave his friend in an opposing seat the satisfaction of eye contact.

"Her name's Melody Gray," the detective said while gazing into bloodshot, hazel eyes. "Her record also holds a few petty thefts, but Damien told me outright none of the worse things she did would be on record."

"Why?" asked Kyle.

Hugh glanced at the older man. "Because all her assaults were against gang members. Like hell they'll report they got their asses kicked."

"So…she was a vigilante?"

"I don't know what she was, save for an enemy of the two gangs. Damien said at one point there was a hit on her, provided by the Purple Dragons."

"A hit on a street rat?" noted Blaine in tired scornfulness.

"Yes," Hugh answered, even in his tone and gaze. "The police report from the turf war in two-thousand-seven barely covers the truth. She was involved in that, too. As were Damien, his girlfriend Jezabel, Jezebel's pupil at the time Amanda Hall, another member called Death Angel, and the Forty-Fourth Street Crew's Horton and Hamlin, who Damien just informed me was once Hall's best friend."

"Alright, so they're all connected"—Kyle now stepped into Hugh's line of sight so he had no choice but to address the tall man's beady, blue eyes that were set high on his diamond-shaped face of pinkish wrinkles—"we already knew they were trouble. How does this help?"

"If you let me explain _further_," continued Hugh with a strained smile, "I could tell you the turf war was something more personal between these people. Damien says Hamlin wanted to be a part of the Purple Dragons like her best friend. But when Hun accepted Amanda into a special program Damien only knows as 'Project-C', she separated bitterly from them in jealousy and joined Horton in the Forty-Fourth Crew.

"Hall and Hamlin's new rivalry sparked on the streets, until Hamlin convinced Horton they needed to break into the PD's HQ and steal information on Project-C. This was at the same time Jezebel and Damien captured Melody for the hit that now had reward money if delivered alive. The whole mess ended up as reported, though the cause was labeled as a turf war instead of what it was. And Melody's presence wasn't acknowledged, either."

"So they were fighting over a secret project? What kind?"

Hugh shrugged. "Beats me. Judging by the crime sites of the Little Red Robberies, though, my guess is it must involve something—"

"_Don't_ go out on a limb, Hugh"—Blaine snapped before the detective could contemplate a tactful conclusion—"not with this, not now. I have too much on my plate to think about your theories."

"Crime scenes _aren't_ theories," Hugh countered, frowning, "My source says the robbers were—_changed_. They're stronger than normal humans."

"Then they're on steroids and have access to great equipment."

"But—"

"Hugh, the Gray girl isn't a PD. If she hasn't been associated with them then how can 'Project-C' be connected to her?"

Buzz. Hugh's gaze shot to Kyle. Buzz. Kyle shared an inquisitive look with him, pocketing a hand in his dress slacks, and then turned as another harsh buzz rung through the florescent-lit room. Hugh eyed the vague highlights of Kyle's slicked-back hair that looked greasier than normal before the older man's form disappeared behind the apartment's hall entrance.

When one final buzz sounded, there was a light click as the front door was unlocked, the faint scraping of old wood dragging across an equally-old wood floor. It wasn't until he heard a trio of familiar voices, though, that Hugh rose in unison with his blonde friend, vision set on the high-arch of the hall's doorway.

The first face he saw or cared for was that of his exhausted wife, Marina—who remained dressed in the same long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants tucked into snow shoes that she'd worn yesterday. She quickly made her way across the narrow living room riddled from walls to floor with papers, not bothering with her heavy coat, and fell into her husband's long arms as if she could no longer stand on her own. Her figure shook slightly with fatigue, so Hugh surrounded her warmth in a tight hug, breathing in the faded scent of her vanilla shampoo. Yet any comforting words he meant for her were silenced by the gradual sobs of Megan.

"Jen"—Blaine took slow, careful steps towards his own wife—"What are you doing here?"

The blonde—her hair a mess of un-brushed waves over her coat and her light green eyes surrounded by purple bags that would shame an insomniac—shook her head in clear exasperation. "Sh—she keeps crying," she managed, though her voice sounded strangled and scratchy like she had screamed all day. "She won't stop. She wants…you."

Blaine halted before the woman that swayed where she stood. Her grip on the little five-year-old in her arms hardly seemed strong, and the officer must've sensed this because he relinquished Jennifer of her burden in one fluid move. Megan's cries grew louder as if she was in physical pain. This caused the mother to cringe so much she looked ready to vomit.

But she didn't. She only crouched, covered her ears, and screwed her eyes shut, her wet shoes squeaking as she rocked slightly on the wood. Hugh had never seen this side of Jen before. She was like Marina—so strong, level-headed, and willing to do what was needed. These women were his and Blaine's rocks; they weren't the ones who were supposed to break first.

"What's wrong, Meg?" Blaine barely kept his voice from breaking into a sob of his own. His large hand brushed aside a lighter lock of blonde hair that obscured the five-year-old's red-flushed face. The sight stung Hugh's eyes.

"S—S—S—Sissy won't come back," Megan said through hicks, squeaks, and shudders that brought Blaine to his knees in seconds. "Wi—will she?"

The father was quick to reply in a high whisper, "How can you say that? Of course she will, Meg. Okay? We just"—he moved that same lock of hair again then rested his hand on her puffed, pink jacket—"we just need to find where Sissy's hiding. That's all."

"Da—Daddy needs to—to—to get Sissy!"

"Daddy's—trying, baby," Blaine choked out while the little girl's breath hitched. "Mommy is, too."

"I miss Sissy! I _want_ Sissy!"

"Me too…"

The touch of Megan's face against her father's chest was all it took for his resolve to break. Blaine shamelessly joined his family in the tears, wrapping an arm around the waist of Jennifer's thick coat with little concern that she would fall over when he pulled her close. The blonde woman didn't fight his lead; she welcomed it, curling her long body into the shivering heap of her child and husband as close as she could manage.

Hugh no longer held a will to speak. Even if he did, his tightened throat would only make matters difficult. So, he sat on the plush couch behind them, noticing for the first time Marina had fallen asleep while clinging to him. The detective could only sigh grimly at her haggard face as he settled her body to fit comfortably in his lap.

'_I hope the brothers track down these cyborgs to their base soon,_" he thought over the vague sound of Kyle's next comment. '_They can't take much more of this…neither can I._'

* * *

Michelangelo didn't bother sneaking; hospital room '5—313' had long-since become a familiar sight and the regulars that hung out in it were used to seeing him climb through the window. They kept it unlocked, if fact, for such an occasion; so when his grooved sneakers touched the linoleum floor, not a figure stirred in surprise. Of course, tonight, the weak light over the room's small sink revealed only the unconscious Mia with her daughter on a swivel stool by her side.

"Hey," the bundled mutant said to the figure still in her thrift coat fashioned from an old quilt. Nia didn't turn his way, but her light sigh convinced him she was awake while leaning the top half of her body on the bed. "How's your mother?"

"She's fine," Nia whispered as Mikey began slipping off his gloves, hat, scarves, and navy blue jacket. "The fevers are growing less frequent, so she's been sleeping better."

"That's good." With a small nod, the ninja's fingers lingered against the slick material of Leo's spare jacket. Then, his frown grew into a light smile and he joined Nia by kneeling beside her.

"You should be resting," the human added within the second he propped his head against his arm. She still didn't bother lifting her head from the bed, but did lower her arms into her lap to keep her voice un-muffled by her colorful sleeves.

The mutant looked down at her closed eyes. "I tried. But couldn't."

"And the others?"

"Sensei's sleeping. Don was in bed for a while, but got up a bit before I left. Locked himself in his lab. And Raph…"

"Let me guess…he got a hold of her, didn't he?"

"Yes," answered Michelangelo strenuously. He barely held back his sneer—for Nia's sake—and had to lower a fist to his side so its gripping would go unnoticed. "He got a hold of her about three hours after you left."

"I see," the young woman replied, quiet, before turning her face into the coarse cotton of her mother's hospital comforter.

"Nia?" Mikey was forced to wait several seconds before Nia's face reemerged from the covers. Somehow, her skin looked paler than usual—especially when compared against the wild, black hair framing her face—and once her eyes fluttered open, settling on his frown with their blue-green medley, he tried his hardest not to suck in a sharp breath at both their brilliance and lost hurt.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, voice still a whisper.

"Y—you know you can always ask me things, Dudette," the orange-banded mutant replied as light as he could manage. He gave a little chuckle that perhaps made his casual tone sound forced, but he needed it to remind himself. They were friends.

"Why would he do that?" Her small voice broke. "Why would he go and—and call her so many times when…he's barely said anything to me? I—I don't understand."

"Honestly?" Mikey started, forthright. "I've been asking myself the same thing. I would say he wants to apologize to Angel after their fight last night, but he doesn't really apologize."

"I've gotten an apology from him before..."

At the pale woman's long sigh, the orange-banded Chūnin straightened, his clenched fist tightening. "Well, you're among the privileged."

"I really thought I was," she mumbled, distant. And her vision dropped.

"Hey—"

"What's their history?" Mikey's eyes watched closely as Nia lifted her body from Mia's bed. Once upright, her gaze found his, though the life in it had dimmed to the point where the mutant's stomach sank. "He's…he's talked in part about it before, but he—he's never explained. And I never pushed the matter before because it—it obviously hurts him."

"You're too nice to him, Nia," the mutant half-joked with a little smirk.

But Nia's lost expression only worsened. "I brought it up earlier tonight because—because of the way he's been acting," she said, soft, "but he wouldn't listen. Just like he wouldn't listen Monday morning."

"What happened Monday morning?"

"I just"—she huffed weakly—"I could tell he needed to talk and he got defensive instead. Compared things to Angel…"

"Of course," Mikey echoed with far more bitterness than the human who lowered her head. A prickling through his muscles and blood didn't raise any panic like it had done months ago, so when the sensation worsened, he simply folded his arms and regarded the slumped figure beside him with an even stare. "I'll tell you," he added, "they broke up for the same reason they always broke up: because they shared the same weakness. They're both stubborn and proud; they never really listened to one another. They were always getting defensive, even over little things. So, together with their short-tempers, fights would escalate until they separated.

"That process kept repeating for the year they were together in two-thousand-six. But, gluttons for punishment, they always returned. Until the last time."

Though silent—a long veil of black hair hiding her expression as she stared downwards—Mikey took the young woman's slight turn of head as an urge to continue. "It started with her brother, Ryan," he said with a sigh. "He and Raph had always had a shaky relationship, even though we've saved him before. From a really weird house. But that's a story for another time. Anyway, the way your—well, your father acts in a similar way towards us as Ryan did. Though Ryan…grew worse." Here, the mutant paused to shiver at the memory of wide, auburn eyes boring into him wearily.

"What we didn't know at the time was that a mental disorder was rearing. He was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, but all too late. Raph had been growing short with the way he was acting. Honestly, it freaked me out too since, hey, who _does_ like being looked at like an alien by a mumbling, fidgeting guy?" Mikey's laugh was feeble and short. "Angel wouldn't talk about the stress to anyone. Pushed away all who tried. And the two were accusing one another all the time. Eventually, it came to a head—with Raph attacking Ryan.

"I wasn't there, though I believe what Angel has told me. Ryan armed himself out of defense. Raph didn't believe he was ill, thought it was a cruel joke. And the siblings were hanging around Purple Dragons still. That fight landed Ryan in an institute for criminals, and some higher power is seeing to it that he stays there with little or no visiting rights. The stress of it all led Angel to leave the city."

Silence.

"So"—Nia's whisper barely reached Michelangelo's trained ears—"he's seen what happens…when you don't communicate."

"Yes," the mutant whispered back, slow.

"But he still…?"

"Like I said, I don't get it either."

"It makes no sense," Nia said as if speaking to herself.

"Well, it is Raph."

"I—I've gotten him to open up before. It was just a bit, but—but he was more willing to try than when Angel was…"

"He's always had a weakness for the strong type," noted Mikey without thought. His tongue clicked, yet at Nia's flinch, he immediately rose to his sneakers and placed a gentle hand on her coat's shoulder. "Don't take that the wrong way; I mean—"

"It's alright, Mikey," the young woman interjected solemnly. "I know I'm nothing like her."

"But that's good!" Still, the human only placed a hand over his to shrug it off. "Nia," he continued, this time grasping her small hand to gain her attention, "I _mean_ it. We love you the way you are! _I_ lo—"

Mikey paused; he had to. At the glistening of Nia's teal eyes, he suddenly felt very lightheaded and nauseous—and not in the usual way he did when Nia's control remained at bay. The pins and needles in his body paled in comparison to the heat spreading from his skin against hers, so he retracted his hand and then turned away from the inquisitive look behind him.

"I _like_ you being yourself," he managed to say after a deep breath. It barely eased the heat in his face. "Just remember, you don't have to change."

"But maybe there's a new way I must grow."

"What?"

"Thanks for telling me their history and for checking up on me," Nia said when Michelangelo's shoes squeaked upon turning. She returned his frown with a hollow smile that matched her weak voice then laid her head over her folded arms on the bed. "I'm—I'm sorry…I'd like to sleep now."

"Yeah, okay"—the mutant repressed a sigh as he headed for the window—"sleep well, Nia."

But she didn't respond.

* * *

**Auhtor's Notes:** Heaviness. Such heaviness. *sigh* Next up "Too Late", in which we get our first glimpse into pre-cyborg Melody and Mikey...cracks. FOUR REVIEWS PLEASE!


	15. Too Late

**Author's Notes:** Big Five, ahoy! Love ya folks. :) Wait 'til you see Mikey in THIS, D'Fuentes and Raven. Duckie, your hugs are currently being delivered. And luke, you loose Big Five points for not telling me WHERE the mistake is. ;D  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 15 - ****Too Late**

The time was early evening and the Lair was silent. Yet Donatello still found his mind wandering from his task in the Lab. The positive wire runs this direction, right? No, the opposite way. Or maybe it was the wrong wire all together.

Wait. He looked closer at the smooth, thin material he pinched between his thick fingers. As suspected, the 'wire' was nothing more than a plastic coating and it wasn't attached to anything at all.

"Come on, brain," Donatello grumbled as he dropped the yellow-colored plastic into a clear bin beside his stool. He leaned over the metal table ahead, rubbing his face into his calloused hands, and spared a moment to breathe.

He should've expected as much. Inventions had always been a form of therapy and excitement for the genius. However, in the last year the sense of comfort and wonder from it had been lost; like when a child ages, only to realize a majority of the stories, adventures, and conclusions they had ever come up with were nonsensical. He felt like the magic had been lost. And he hadn't been able to gain an ounce of it back.

Work—that's all it was now. He'd grown frustrated more easily and the days he took calls for tech support left him so fatigued he didn't even want to look at the gadgets in his lab.

He hated that.

Gadgets were part of his essence—one of the prominent things that defined him as an individual. He was the 'tech geek', the 'dork', the guy that could find an effective means of escape or infiltration when all seemed lost. He was supposed to be reliable in his field, so it felt as if he were forsaking himself, his role on the team, and his clan when he would think 'Maybe I should just sleep'.

'_I'm trying not to be depressed,_' the Chūnin noted in his mind. He didn't have the will to unbury his face. '_I'm trying to keep myself together. But this is hard—harder than anything I've done before._'

An image filled the blackness of Don's closed lids—a smirk, a display of playful blue-gray eyes, and a rare snort-laugh that had once brought the mutant more joy than he ever thought possible. He sucked in a sudden breath as if punched in the gut and sat upright again in hopes that the image would leave him. It didn't.

'_Mel'_—his long body slumped again—'_I can't believe you still remember. I can't believe…you would do this to my clan…me…_'

"_You have no right to call me that, Damn Mechanic!"_

Damn Mechanic. The nickname from their early acquaintanceship had cut into Donatello deeper than the woman's glare. It kept a pit in his stomach—one that didn't ease even in his sleep, just like the constant ache in his chest. She saw him as a stranger now. All over again. And it was his fault.

Did that mean the situation was hopeless? No. When the shock wore off and the facts sunk in, Don determined she wasn't a lost cause. He'd never seen her as a lost cause. Prideful to a fault, yes. A smart-ass, yes. Someone with worse trust issues than him, yes. But never a lost cause. So he'd fight for her before Raphael's accusations—regardless.

Why? Sometimes he would ask himself that too. He admitted she was a terrible amount of trouble. But he would always arrive at the same conclusion: because she was worth it…and he owed her an apology.

'_Besides…I know the anger and violence isn't the true her. Raph gives me grief, but he, of all people, should know you can't judge someone purely on their temper. Yeah, even if she's taken Leo. She more than that. I've seen it…_'

He could still remember it vividly, the first time he had witnessed the kinder side of her. It had been three years ago at the Reservoir in Central Park…

_Donatello's strong legs leapt through the tall reeds that lined the Reservoir's muddy bank. His massive weight sunk him into the cool, pliable earth with every step he took, but he was able to pry himself out—the suction of his feet resulting in a light 'pop'—and continue on as if running over blacktop. _

_Ninja instinct kept him in the denser parts of the itchy foliage, so as not to be completely revealed. Still, he knew little could be seen on this side of the pond at such a late hour since a majority of the city's lights focused on the high-traffic areas opposing it. In this knowledge, the mutant didn't bite down his feeling of exhilaration as he traveled further through the March night's fog._

_By the time he halted, the land beneath his feet was saturated with mud. This didn't surprise him. He had planned to arrive at this semi-marsh spot filled with a few dead snags, logs, and algae, so he hadn't dressed himself from the waist down; it would only be a waste and a bother. A light fleece jacket and scarf kept the cool air at bay. Besides, collecting samples would keep him warm enough—at least until he returned home._

_He smiled widely then hung up a duffle bag (that had been slung over his shoulder) by its strap on a Gingko's splintered branch at the side. Immediately, he unzipped the bag and felt inside for a few short, cylindrical containers. No sooner did his thick fingertips brush against the smooth plastic did a sudden crack of dry reeds reach his ears._

_He drew his bō staff in an instant—perfectly aware the noise could've been an animal, but still not quite convinced. He listened, silent. More reeds cracked, though their damage sounded quieter than before. Soon, a high-pitched tone like a dolphin raising and cutting off its voice joined in the crunching, and a human voice chimed in right afterwards. These sounds were followed by the occasional splashing of water._

_Cautious, the mutant stalked forward, along a bend of partially-submerged weeds, until he spotted a figure sitting on the drier bank of the marsh's other side. The layer of fog made it impossible to register a face beneath the moon's soothing glow, yet the figure's form felt familiar and the voice sounded even more so. Unfortunately, a significant lack of matured trees limited the ninja in regards to how close he could venture. He crouched behind a thick log in the partially-submersed reeds a few yards from the bank, his staff still held firmly in his hands._

_Another spell of high-pitched whistles drew Don's attention towards the green-tinted water. Through the white haze a female Wood Duck cried out among the algae. The splashing accompanied her frenzied call and the seven, fuzzy ducklings around her were tossed about in the water's wake. She whistled again in alarm, stretching her neck towards the figure as she perched on a dead snag beside the naked crown of a much larger tree that had recently fallen._

"_Come on, little guy," the figure said in a mildly-deep voice. "I've already gone through the hassle of getting you out of that London Plane tree; the least you could do is listen." Don's eyes switched to the figure as its long dreadlocks fell in their vision. A head rose with an impatient huff and once hair flipped harshly over the figure's shoulders, Don could clearly determine a face through the light fog._

_And he about dropped his staff in his shock. Melody Gray. What reason could she have for sitting on the Reservoir bank in the dark? The mutant slipped his staff back in its holster and rose a fraction over the smelly log to see what she was attempting to hold still between her spread legs. He heard the duckling's many little peeps before he saw an image of its furry form. When Melody picked the baby up, tipping it upside down, Don cocked his head._

"_No need to cry," the redhead said. The mutant didn't know she was capable of such a soft tone. "How am I supposed to set this if you won't stay still? Don't you want to go back to your mother?"_

_The brown bird chirped in response. It twisted its head to nibble at Melody's ginger grasp. But it didn't stop moving—more specifically, it flailed just one leg. The human sighed at its defiance, her severe features contorting into a wistful expression as she slumped in her dirty seat. She mumbled something else, though Don couldn't make it out; he had begun wading around the log, heading for the dry bank._

"_Hey," he said while shivering from the cold water. He didn't expect her to take his presence in stride, so when she turned towards him defensively, clutching the duckling towards her ample chest, he only flashed a mild grin, waving hello_

_She took a moment longer to realize who he was. "What are you doing here, Damn Mechanic?"_

_Don smiled, even at her contemptuous tone. "I'm collecting a few plant samples around this area to, uh—for fun. What about you?"_

"_My business is my own," the homeless human grumbled immediately. Another peep from the duckling caused her glare to lighten some. And if Don didn't know any better, he would say a blush rose across her prominent cheeks bones. _

"_You asked about me," he said._

"_Well, I didn't really care, so go away."_

_Melody replied straight-faced, but Donatello couldn't help laughing. He found it silly for someone to be so defensive over a good deed. He found it even sillier she was trying to hide the deed in her faded sweater, like the baby couldn't be heard. Of course, he only earned a harder glare and growl by the time the laughter eased._

"_Sorry," Don said out of habit, "but I already know what you're doing, Miss Gray."_

_She continued her ascent to her feet then back-stepped in the water's edge. "Now you're spying on me?" she hissed._

"_Relax; I just happened across you," answered the mutant. He pointed at the duckling. "It broke its leg, right? And you need help setting it."_

_Obviously, she wanted to tell him off like she had done for the past year. Only genuine care made her take a step towards him and unbury the bird from between her breasts. She scowled the whole time, but at least she was cooperating. And Donatello wasted no time in approaching her._

"_Your hands are huge, so it will make this awkward," she started in an erudite voice. Her blue-gray eyes were focused on guiding the mutant's hands when she relinquished the soft creature. "Place your two—index fingers around his back and very gently push your thumbs across his chest. Make sure the other fingers remain out of his vision; we don't want him to feel claustrophobic. And if he seems like he's slipping, tell me. You don't need to press harder."_

"_Believe it or not, I've handled plenty of delicate things," Don added easily._

_Melody sent him an unconvinced stare. "Just let me know."_

_And she went to work. A short, sturdy piece of wood already hung haphazardly from the duck's unnaturally-bent leg. This was held in place by a thin piece of fabric that matched the woman's damp, tattered sweater. The duck tried to keep his leg close to his body to no avail._

_When Melody stretched it, gingerly easing the bone into its native form, the duck made a heart-breaking series of squawks that the mother replied to in the distance. In a short moment the leg was fully bound against the wood's length and Melody practically snatched the baby back like a protective parent before approaching the marsh._

_She walked forward until knee-deep in water—away from the pesky reeds—then gently placed the baby in a clear area. Though it panicked at first, its fuzzy wings flapping about, it soon eased into the idea of what was now attached on him. It swam strangely with just one healthy leg, like a slight weight drug down one side of its body. In spite of that, it reached its vocal mother in the lifting fog, who had left the dead snag to welcome it back. _

_Melody remained where she stood, watching the little family as the other ducklings crowded around for attention._

"_So long as you find him and remove that splint when necessary, he should be fine," Donatello noted._

_Melody didn't answer him. Or face him. Huffing, she walked through the water and approached the pond's bank a few feet down from where the mutant stood. Even then, she only called back in a loud voice._

"_Stop stalking me!"_

Don smiled at the memory. Melody's closing words sounded that much sweeter because of an inside joke they shared. Or once shared. Seeing that glimmer of a caring spirit had been what kept him intrigued. But it wasn't until the year's following winter that he gained her interest as well. Or, at least, she didn't glare and turn away every time they met.

That woman was the one he was fighting to save. He had done it before; he could do it again. He just hoped it wasn't too late for forgiveness…

"I can't take it anymore!" Michelangelo's voice rang through the Lab so suddenly, Donatello jolted upright in his seat as if he'd been goosed.

He managed to calmly swivel, though, until he spotted his younger brother dressed in pants and Leo's winter coat. The orange-banded mutant turned from where he had slammed the door shut then immediately stalked across the Lab like a restless lion. He breathed deep—to maintain some kind of control, Don would guess—while he started pacing.

"Mikey, what's wrong?" asked Donatello kindly.

"Just _everything_!" the brother responded without hesitation. His nostrils flared with a snort as he spun away from one wall he approached all too soon and headed for the next. "Sensei's barely moved since Thanksgiving. Leo's missing. People are being kidnapped. Cyborgs are taking over. But most of all, Raph's a stubborn asshole!"

"He can be," Don said in a somewhat low tone. "What'd he do now?"

"You know he's out with Angel again, right?"

At Mikey's flailing arms, the genius frowned. "I thought you all went out, to start setting up sensors around the city."

"We did"—the mutant ceased his pace then faced his older brother—"but since Raph and Angel made a game out of it, I did my share alone."

"They didn't include you?"

"I didn't want to play." Michelangelo's eyes darkened in an instant and Donatello found himself lost under their severity. He kept silent as the nunchaku master stalked closer, looking very much like Raphael. "It's their way of 'innocent' flirting," continued Mikey. "You know that. So I came home after setting sensors around my block and you know what I found?"

Don shook his head.

"I found Nia in Raph's room. _Alone_."

"She's back?" the genius questioned with his eye ridges knit tight. "I, uh, thought she was going to stay with Gavin tonight. I didn't even hear her come in."

"Well, she did come back."

"And you're upset because?"

"She found pictures of Angel, Don."

"Oh?" Though unintelligible, it was the only response Don could manage.

Mikey snorted in an uncharacteristic manner that worried his brother. At one point the youngest Hamato looked ready to scream, perhaps curse, yet a slow swipe of his hands down his face left him in a calmer state. Donny stood so he could silently offer his seat, and Mikey didn't hesitate to take it.

"What was she doing with the pictures?" the purple-banded Chūnin asked after his brother sucked in a few shaky breaths.

"What do you _think_?" his brother snapped. "She's heard about Angel. A lot. Thanks to Raph. But she didn't have a face to the name. So she found some of our old albums and looked her up. That would be alright…if she wasn't also making a list of things Angel's better at."

"She wasn't," whispered Don with a groan.

Mikey nodded tartly. "And that's not even the worst part of it. She was also talking to herself, poking fun at her appearance while she made mention of never looking as pretty as an athletic person like Angel."

"Oh, good grief." The bō master groaned louder this time, just imagining the sight. "Did you talk with her?"

"Of course I did!" Green features now grim, Michelangelo clenched his fists on his lap. He slowly began to shake like his voice. "She told me 'I'm just thinking of different ways I can grow.' What bull is that? She can't even tell me the truth: that she _fears_ she could lose Raph to Angel. I mean"—he laughed without joy—"I don't understand. Raph lets himself get caught up in things that'll make him feel good, and then he forgets about the things that are _best_ for him. But he shouldn't. Nia's already grown a lot. And she says it's thanks to us, but…mostly me and Raph. She cares about him, in a way that I wish—_Damn_."

Mikey chuckled strangely at his own uncontrollable shakes. Anxiety, Don realized. His brother was usually skilled at keeping break-downs at bay, so when they reared, they shot the youngest's nerves something fierce. As Mikey's teeth began to chatter and tears welled up then fell from his glossy eyes, Donatello placed a hand on his sibling's nuchal scute from where he stood beside the stool.

"He—he's so stupid," Michelangelo added in a harsh whisper. "He has someone great wanting to stand beside him, and—and he's too blinded by a past affair to see he could lose her. What's worse is he's using Leo's situation as an excuse. He was doing _so_ much better…You know, save for the months of July and August…"

"I've warned him what could happen if he continues to keep her at arm's-length," Don noted with a strained sigh.

"I can't stand him hurting her"—Mikey spoke before his older brother's sentence ended—"I can't…She wants him fully, and he won't let her."

"I know; I've talked about that with him, too."

"And like _usual_, Raph doesn't listen." Now the tears were picking up speed down Michelangelo's darkened face. "He's taking for granted what he has. It's not _fair_! This is—the second"—his voice cracked—"the _second_ time, Donny."

"So you really do like her," Donatello remarked. He sounded monotonous, but if he didn't keep level, he wouldn't stay collected enough to continue the conversation. Mikey nodded and the older brother guided him through a rough breathing spell with a silent series of hand movements.

"Is this"—hick—"how you felt?" questioned Michelangelo in pain.

"What do you mean?"

The youngest hicked again. "When you watched April…with Casey. Is this how you felt?"

"Mikey…" Don grimaced. "That was a silly teenage crush. I mean, Ape's six years our senior."

"It didn't change how you felt. We could all tell…"

"Is that right?"

"Yeah"—hick—"so tell me, please." Voice a strangled whisper, Mikey continued after another hick, "Is this how you felt when you watched them?"

Words left Donatello. He tried to force them, yet croaked while remembering the sting of defeat. When a new wave of tears struck his brother, he could do nothing more than gently rub the youngest's scutes like their father had often done when they were younger and suffering.

"It is, isn't it?" Michelangelo barely managed. "And now the next girl you fell for wants to kill you." He laughed, almost hysterically, but that laughter soon led into more sobs that weakened Don's knees. "How—how could you stand it?" he whispered brokenly. "How could you take this? It—it hurts…"

"I know, Mikey," Donatello whispered back.

"How could you take it?"

Don dropped to his knees, returning the hug Mikey had already started.

"Please, tell me, Donny…how to make the pain stop. It hurts just like before…"

But Donatello couldn't answer. He didn't know how. All he knew was that comfort in family tended to ease the worst of wounds, so he held on tighter.

* * *

Amanda Hall cracked her sore neck as she sat in the dark room she shared with her boyfriend at Purple Dragon Head Quarters. She brushed perfectly-manicured fingernails through her short hair from root to tip. Across her lips a smirk formed and when she uncrossed her bare legs to stare closer at the text-heavy webpage displayed on her laptop, it grew.

'_Perfect_,' she thought as she tapped the down arrow key.

Oswald Cybernetics Corporation would be the best hit. It was one of the leading companies in the country that focused on bio-cybernetics—a step down from a highly-secure facility called The Black Lotus Organization. Its prized employee had once worked at the esteemed Erudio Laboratories as an experimental geneticist and, yes, it had already been weakened by a Little Red Robbery. If Amanda remembered the news reports correctly, they were still in the process of rebuilding their wall. And no doubt their camera coverage would be spotty. The company practically begged for her attention.

'_I'll strike sometime tomorrow night_,' the redhead thought with a light snigger. '_Giving Livino the slip won't be hard. He'll only try to stop me. I won't let him keep away the power I deserve. Just watch_'—she frowned—'_after all these years,_ _I'll be better than all of them. Dragonspot, Hunt, Blade, Pierce, Gray, Sharon—they'll pale compared to me. Soon…I'll be a goddess._'

* * *

**Author's Notes:** DAMMIT RAPH! AND AMANDA! *flips table* Mikey, baby. *sniffs* Prepare for a heart attack next chapter in "Strength", which...I will only say centers around Nia. Four reviews, peeps!


	16. Strength

**Author's Notes:** Big Five, plus Raven. Are you now a Big Six?! THANKS!  
Feather, I'm SO happy to hear you liked the flashback. More will come, too!  
D'Fuentes, the 'first' girl wasn't Angel. Mikey never had a thing for Angel, in my version. More on that to come. ;)  
Raven, he WILL get his happy ending by "A Tale of Heroes"!  
Now, I'm sorry. Just. Continue.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 16 -****Strength**

Splinter sucked in a pained breath. He hadn't done much—just stood. Yet such seemed enough work to warrant a shooting jab from his ankles to his knees to his hips and ultimately up his spine. The feeling had grown all too familiar for the old rat in recent months, and so he expertly reached for the walking stick beside his futon before standing fully, almost breathless. A disgruntled look settled on his furry features—one he had no reason to hide since his sons were Topside for a field test of Donatello's latest invention.

'_Oh, Donatello…_' Splinter grimaced at the mere thought of his frayed son. '_So torn, so wounded. I wish for nothing more than to ease your pain as you try to ease mine. Yet you will not speak with me…_'

The increasing formalities didn't count. If anything, they cemented the shame and fear the old rat detected in his son's light brown eyes whenever they met in passing. Splinter recognized the behavior as a habit—one Donatello had shown since childhood.

Whenever he did something he felt would disappoint his master—his father—he lacked the immediate courage to confess, like any other child. Instead, he would act reserved with sometimes over-exaggerated manners that, in hindsight, he would realize betrayed him. The length of time it took for him to finally speak would vary on the degree of his supposed shame.

And this recent shame weighed on his soul more heavily than anything before.

'_I have told Donatello time and time again: there should be no fear in speaking with me. However…I know any one of my sons would have trouble approaching me about such a matter. Not only has he hid this woman's association with him for years, but he also…'_

Splinter drew in deep breath yet released is unsteadily. '_I cannot say when it happened, but I know the look of a heart-broken man. Master Yoshi once looked at his love so fondly. And when Tang Shen was taken from him, he survived with an equal amount of pain as Donatello now shows._'

Splinter had hoped the genius would at least seek solace in his brothers. Raphael, though, hadn't eased in his anger over Leonardo's capture and Donatello's secret. The only people he had seen his youngest middle son talk with easily were Michelangelo and Nia. And they had to seek him out. As far as Splinter knew, Donatello hadn't even sought his friend Leatherhead's counsel in regards to his recent inventions.

The mutant rat frowned as he slid open the shoji screen of his bedroom and limped into the area beyond with his walking stick. '_That is unlike him,_' he thought, heading towards the living room couch. '_Usually, help is thoroughly welcomed. Yet it seems he trusts only himself to design a counter attack against these cyborgs_…_He wishes not to harm her, the one named Melody Gray._' Splinter halted at the couch, sighing.

"Love alone is difficult," he noted grimly. "Love for my sons will be nothing short of complicated…and I admit it troubles me that I can only guide them so far."

Creak! Clank! Thump!

Splinter' light frame swirled. With ears perked and walking staff raised, he paused to survey the dark Lair. Nothing moved, but he quickly pinpointed the follow up noises of a squeal, a groan, and the distinctive clanking of metal chains. There was a light emanating from the dojo's cracked sliding door. The Chi Splinter sensed whirling within it could belong to only one person, and so his guard dropped before he approached the dojo with diligent footsteps. Though he almost collapsed once, he still caught his pained breath so he could stand straight when he slid the wooden door open.

He silently walked across the large, oriental rugs that gave the cramped space a bit of life and looked for anything out of place amongst the wood-panel walls that were decorated with weapons, informative scrolls, and shelves. Between a mounted pool holder lined with various yari designs and an old wine barrel filled cheap practice staffs, a metal bookshelf had been violently pulled off its wall anchor. The shuriken and kunai that had once been so neatly organized by shape were forced from their boxes, strewn around the heavy storage unit's upper half like a prickly halo. He needn't question himself about how the mess came to be; a single step to the right provided the answer.

She was noisy. She was clumsy. And in the short time Splinter watched her, she barely dodged not one but two head blows that would have rendered her unconscious. The rat held his breath unwillingly as the human continued to spin the weighted end of a kusarigama around like a beginner's lasso, its whizzing noise occasionally breaking through the small gasps of its wielder.

Despite her turned back, the amount of timidness in her bent form and flinches spoke volumes. So when the sickle's iron anchor flew backwards rather than ahead at a dummy target, Splinter could only assume sweat from her palms was a leading factor. The other factor being her lack of skill.

His paw caught the chain link just above the anchor that hurled towards his nose, and brought it down to his side in one fluid movement. "Nia-san," he addressed firmly, "what are you doing?"

Instantly, Nia ducked as if the old master had physically slapped her upside the head. "U—Um," she managed without turning. "I, uh…I—"

Splinter released his baited breath, rolling up the sickle's long chain as he approached the young woman. "Nia-san, you come to the dojo to meditate. Why the sudden interest in its weaponry?"

"I—I was just"—Nia turned her pale face when the mutant reached her—"I wanted to see…what it was like."

"And how did it feel?"

The human grimaced and Splinter's gaze softened under it. Simply turning the weighted weapon he now held in his paws caused a fair amount of distress in his joints, but he managed it without any tells.

"Do you know the name of this weapon?" he questioned, didactic. Nia's teal eyes drifted towards the wooden-handled sickle then back to the ornate rug beneath the feet of her abstract-print tights. "It is called a 'kusarigama'," Splinter continued when she shook her head, "which essentially means 'chain-sickle'. A chain was not always used, though. This weapon was forged from the working class, who could not afford so much iron."

"Wh—what was used then?" Nia asked softly.

Splinter smiled at how genuinely intrigued she sounded. "A simple rope. You see, this weapon came about during the Muromachi Period, in which a section of time known as the Sengoku or 'Warring States' Period roused the people into a frenzy of social unrest. Great lords fought for freedom from the Ashikaga Shogunate. Then, they fought against one another for power. The ashigaru—hardly armed soldiers in the armies—hailed from peasant backgrounds, so it is no surprise such a simple weapon gained popularity."

"I hate wars," noted Nia numbly. And the Chi around her condensed.

"As do I," Splinter replied, solemn. His body prickled at the pins and needles that sent goose flesh across him. Even so, he retained confidence that the Chi would not spiral out of control as it had months before. "Nia-san, combat is not your way. So tell me"—the rat kneeled on the floor, kusarigama in his lap, then gestured for the human to follow—"why would you risk injury and the condition of my dojo in contradiction to this."

Teal eyes snapped towards him. "I could make it my way."

"Only if you feel akin to it." Splinter's smile died as Nia sunk to her knees, sighing. "Ninjutsu takes years of discipline," he added. "Only those who strive for it with all their being can master it, make it their way. To do so, they must feel a connection. Do you feel this connection, Nia-san?" Without even glancing up, she shook her head. "Then why?"

"I…I just want to be useful," the woman answered. A mysterious bitterness darkened her tone, her gaze on the rugs. Slowly, her fingers curled around the hem of her sweater dress as she continued, "I feel like…I—I need to be stronger. To help everyone else. I—I'm not really brave when it comes to danger, I know, and"—she gulped—"the limit of my physical prowess is to touch my shins. Maybe—maybe if I changed that, though, I could do more. And Raph would…" She trailed off into a sigh that set a deep frown across Splinter's face when he remembered the recent treatment of his son towards Nia.

"Nia-san," he started, tone firm and even, "one's want to expand their skills is admirable. However"—he placed a gentle paw on her hand—"if you feel these new skills are not a part of you it is for naught. You need not change, you need only to—"

"Grow. I know."

The old master frowned at such curtness, especially when she retracted her hand. "Did Leonardo speak with you of it?"

"No." The young woman paused then whispered, almost pained, "Raph did. He—he mentioned it when we finally came to an understanding. It's—what made me first start liking him as a friend. But"—she shook her head before locking eyes with Splinter—"what's the difference? I thought I knew, but…"

"Raphael has always lacked the ability for explanations; it's part of who he is," Splinter said with a light sigh. "To change one's self is to choose to become another person. This change can be severe or it can be minor. But it is when you force yourself to become—an ideal in your head. To grow?" His paw raised then found Nia's hand again, this time holding onto it with gentle firmness. "That is to simply strengthen yourself as trials arise. How you respond to those trials—overcome them—that is what makes you grow and defines you. It reveals the real person you were meant to be."

"So," Nia said, morose in tone and gaze, "if the person one grows into isn't strong enough to stand beside the ones it cares for, then it shouldn't bother to change?"

"There are different kinds of strength, Nia-san; like I told you there are different kinds of courage. The world is not simply black and white."

Nia huffed lightly at Splinter's sincere words, twisting away; though Splinter had already felt her tremble before she drew her arms close to her body. And the negative charge in the air could be felt by anyone with an ounce of trained sense.

"There is the strength of the mind, and of the body and of the spirit," he added after a silent moment. "A formidable force is when one has mastery over all three. But such rarely is the case. The degrees of these strengths are as unique as every person on this planet. And everyone has an innate affinity towards one.

"Raphael's strength lies in physical trails; he can endure the most excruciating pain of all his brothers. Michelangelo's strength lies in his spirit; his power of kindness and belief is beyond compare. Donatello's strength lies in his mind; his logic and knowledge gives him sure-footing, confidence, and makes him highly reliable. Le"—the mutant choked on his own words—"Leonardo…His strength is a little of all three, though his spirit—his will to defend others—exceeds the rest."

"Raph doesn't really acknowledge the other strengths, does he?" the young woman questioned without hesitation.

Splinter swallowed a lump in his throat. "At one point he did."

"Before he broke up with Angel?"

"After."

A long sigh.

"Child"—the old master lifted Nia's chin with a shaking paw, begrudgingly catching her wounded gaze—"Raphael is a passionate person. He often loses himself in emotion. This makes him unstable. Angel-san…is no different. Or, she was no different three years ago. Together, they fumbled, looking towards each other for a steady hand neither could offer. They were left to fall. Thus ended their relationship."

"But"—Nia's voice cracked—"if she's grown in a way that interests him more than…what does that mean for me?"

Splinter wanted nothing more than to give a reassuring smile, yet he couldn't. "Regrettably, that is a question only Raphael can answer. However, I will say in these past months I have seen you strengthen your mind and spirit. These strengths compliment Raphael. And I believe you can provide the stable ground my son needs."

"Thanks for talking with me, Splinter-san," Nia said automatically. Splinter felt his heart quicken at her revert to such an early habit. He reached for her when she stood, though she quickly bowed then headed for the dojo door, taking with her a whirlwind of negative Chi.

"Where are you going, child?" he questioned.

She didn't turn as she answered. "I'm just…going for a walk."

* * *

Nia's mind was swimming. She could barely keep focused on her brisk walk down Broadway towards Midtown, causing her to bump into occasional persons who were still about at midnight. But even through the frigid winds, the ice patches on the sidewalk, and the snow sprinkling from the orange-hued atmosphere over New York City, she pushed on.

She had to, before the others came back. She knew once she saw Raphael's face the risk of short-circuiting everything in the Lair would be too great. Donatello didn't need that; he had enough troubles as it stood with designing his containment device for the cyborgs and messing with his over-heating servers so he could run his facial recognition program.

'_That's what they're doing now,_' Nia thought as she tugged the sash of her colorful quilt coat tighter. '_The containment unit has already failed twice tonight. I don't know how much better it can get. Donny says it keeps cutting out because a car battery isn't enough to sustain the electrical current. He needs something stronger…a power cell. Maybe I could ask Daddy. He might have connections still. I'm sure he'd say yes…if I pleaded._'

The woman sighed at the thought of her father. So proud and stubborn—very much like her boyfriend—he had kept his distance in the passing month. More so since Leo's kidnapping. The joy of their reunion had already lost its novelty and that was because she chose to stand beside her friends.

She knew he didn't approve of them—mainly due to his own inner war about mutants and aliens in general—but she'd held onto the hope he would come to accept them. Or, if anything, come to respect that she wanted to live a life with them. It's where she felt the most comfortable. Why would he be angry at her for such?

'_I never believed Mama when she said Daddy was the jealous type. To me, he always seemed so easy-going…but I guess that was because Mama was with him and I…didn't care for friends_…'

It was a new side of him she was seeing. And she hated it.

'_I wish Mama were awake._' Nia felt her eyes sting in the biting cold. '_She always knows what to say. If she were, I could talk to her about Daddy. I could talk to her about Raph. And even…M—Mikey…_'

Interactions had grown a little awkward between the human and orange-banded mutant—to the point where they could no longer make eye contact. Nia went out of her way to ensure they were never alone. She got the distinct feeling he was thankful for her doing so. The others found it strange, she noticed, but a nagging sensation in her mind whenever she talked with Donny led her to believe the genius knew the reason why.

Shivering from a particularly icy wind, Nia drew her arms close, burying her jaw so deep into the scarf wrapped about her neck that she felt warm moisture accumulate on her skin. '_I—I still can't make heads or tails of the emotions I felt from him,_' she thought grimly. '_When he grabbed my hand Wednesday night…I felt so overwhelmed, so off—like, for a moment, all my feelings had been replaced by his. Not even in Mister Baker's shelter has such happened before…Of course, the feelings were still jumbled. It's like I was listening to white noise. Yet…I could focus on one emotion…_'

And that emotion had been what kept Nia on edge. She had Splinter's pointers in meditation to thank for the deduction; however, she wasn't quite sure she was ready for its discovery. Knowing only made her situation with Raph feel ten times worse. And the last thing she wanted was to drag her best friend into the middle of her relationship problems, especially when he was already under the pressure of a missing brother.

Frankly, she was at a loss of what to do next.

'_Different strengths, Mister Splinter?_' She sighed then stopped in her tracks._ 'You may see some in me, but, honestly…I don't feel like I have any strength at all right now._'

"Welcome to Oswald Cybernetics Corporation. Please state your type of business."

Nia let out a high-pitch squeal at a feminine robotic voice. It barely called attention from a few callous citizens, but that didn't stop a blush from heating her face or her heart from speeding up. When she moved her rigid body, the first thing she did was study her knee-high Converse, which created a bright contrast against the rubber mat she stood on. The second thing she did was look up at a sleek intercom box mounted against the entrance of a towering industrial building. Receded into the box was a video display that showed the pixilated image of an AI, who repeated her line.

"Oh!" Nia backed off the mat, realizing it had weight sensors for company visitors. Immediately, the AI grew silent and a screensaver with the glowing words 'Oswald Cybernetics Corporation' faded in over her face. The young woman's gaze didn't linger on the screen long; it drifted from building's cement foundation up its sleek body with long, slender windows to a large, spinning logo at its top. She found it morbidly hilarious that the logo incorporated a neon turtle in its simplistic design and sighed as her vision fell to the canvas tarp draped on its side.

"That's weird," she noted under her breath, taking a step in its direction. "Did the fasts on the corner break?" The soft flapping of plastic in the breeze was so subtle it could've gone unnoticed under the roar of traffic if Nia hadn't stopped. Even then, she could barely make out shapes since the building's outside lights had either been turned off or didn't exist. "Wait…"

The tarp's corner pulled further away and it rustled louder than before, in spite of the dying wind. When it stilled then rustled again—like something was fighting against it from behind—Nia almost turned around. Almost. Her teeth gritted and her heart ceased in her tight chest, but, wanting to ensure she was overreacting, she returned to the slow traffic on the sidewalk so she could round the decorative fence keeping pedestrians from a steep drop.

Her weighted feet soon placed her on uneven ground before a two-story-high chain link door that ran between the Oswald Building and the lesser-known attorney's office beside it. The difference between the two building's architecture—especially given that the modern Oswald Building had forced itself between two nineteenth-century hotels—meant ample coverage was given on both sides, sheltering her from street view.

Even so, the young woman glanced over her shoulder in concern before pressing tentative hands against the chain link. Its cold metal sent a shiver down Nia's spine as she pressed harder and harder until—ultimately—her bare fingers slid through the door's holes then shook it with all her might. A false step caused a slip on a small patch of ice that sent her face-first into the door. It jerked open under the weight of her catch.

"Ow," she groaned, rubbing her tender nose. She then glanced at the wrapped chain that bound the door's frame to a post and tested its new slack by pushing on the door again. The crack wasn't much, but it would do if her hips twisted sideways.

"My god, why are ya so fat?" a Brooklyn-esque voice questioned from high above.

Nia froze. She didn't care that only half her body had fit past the door. Slowly, she crouched in an awkward position as she forced her gaze on the tarp over her head, where the voice continued its complaints. A sudden blur of gray and soft blue hurled towards the ground like a missile and, in surprise, the young woman dived out of the alley. She whirled behind her in time to hear a metallic clank against the asphalt before the object bounced towards then off of the door. Breathing heavily, she crawled forward, peering between the chain links to identify the round object that rolled to a stop beside the wheels of a short industrial dumpster.

'_Th—that's a power cell!_' She'd seen a lot of similar ones in her youth—with the same bullet-shaped outline—but the soft glow inside that emanated from the rectangular windows surrounding its middle made it unique in its design. '_Donny needs one of those. He needs it…to catch the cyborgs. Th—this may be their only chance to get one…But…_'

No. There was no time for debate; the chance was now. A nylon rope had lowered beside the dumpster. It carried the extreme weight of a haphazardly-secure body and it would reach the ground within moments. So, sucking in a deep breath, Nia squeezed back into the alley, tripping as she did so, then stumbled over additional patches of ice before reaching the cell. Its metal was warm to the touch—like the temperature of a body. She instantly brought it to her chest, but a thump from behind locked her legs in place. And the harsh click of heels that followed dried up her throat.

"What the hell are ya doin' with my power cell?" the voice from before questioned darkly. The clicks grew louder. "Well?"

How could Nia answer when she couldn't breathe? Her entire frozen form remained in place even when the clicks halted behind her.

"Are ya playin' a game with me?" The snarl obviously belonged to a woman. "It isn't funny. So," the unknown woman paused for a sardonic giggle, "you have to the count of three. One…two"—the dark mock in her tone strained with annoyance, though Nia still couldn't move—"Fine, have it your way. Three."

A sharp pressure met Nia's stomach. The air she had been holding for almost a minute now was suddenly released in a strangled cry. And she barely had time to process what had happened before the same pressure returned—this time, pushing so hard on her back that her head bounced against the asphalt.

Despite the shooting pain, her grip on the power cell remained strong. As she curled her body around it, a second pressure reached her ribs. It didn't feel near as sharp, but its force was ten times worst than the last. Nia's body rolled twice until her back hit a brick wall and she gaped like a fish seeking oxygen.

"Ya got one last chance."

Nia blinked her vision back into focus as the clicks of heels neared. But she didn't focus on the black-clad woman ahead; a brief glance at the body beside the dumpster drew her attention. '_Is that…Doctor Marx?_' she thought, sitting up as if gravity had increased on her.

"Wised up yet?"

Nia's gaze was forced from the unconscious man as strong hands lifted her from the asphalt by the excess of her quilt coat. Suspended in the frigid air, she stared down at the sneer across a redhead's tanned face, wide-eyed. Still, she clenched the power cell. The redhead didn't question any further. She released her hold on Nia while scoffing, but just as quickly spun to kick her in the gut. In the narrow alley, the pale woman met the sharp edge of the dumpster with such a fury it sent warm liquid down the side of her head. She couldn't feel the cut. The only reason she knew it must've been deep was because of the amount of red that stained the snow she sat in.

"…_Remember the panic button."_

Leonardo's voice guided one of Nia's hands into her coat pocket. Her trembling fingers brushed over the rough grooves of her Shell Cell's cover then slid it open. The largest button near the keypad's bottom—that was the panic button Leo had mentioned. Yet, as she rose to her feet, she hesitated to push it. Voices whirled in her mind like a tide pool. She heard Mikey, and Don, and her father. Above all, though, she heard Raph.

"_Ya ain't a fighter like Angel; that's all."_

Nia's grip tightened on the power cell.

"_Let Angel take care 'a the drivin'; it's safer that way."_

The redhead approached; slowly at first, but then she broke out into a dash.

"_Ya can only do so much, Nia; that's fine. Angel will help us Topside."_

Nia moved her fingers from the Shell Cell's panic button.

"_Ya just don't got that strength."_

And steadied her stance.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** No, this doesn't end well. *sigh* Next, "Scared", we jump into Raph's head and get another update on Leo. You all know the drill; review!


	17. Scared

**Author's Notes:** Big Six, I thank thee (I know Duckie will post later LOL).  
For the record, Nia _never_ planned to _be _Angel. Just adopt some of her perceived 'strengths'. Like that artist would change her nice clothe style. ;D That said, Nia's still influential in regards to this group. Or, people in general. She hasn't found her full identity yet, and this is an important step towards it, believe it or not, Raven. :)  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 17 - ****Scared**

A warm breeze from a mounted industrial fan brushed across the over-heated flesh of Melody's face. It did little good. She had already stripped herself of her red cloak, which now hung over the chair she slumped in, as well as her light-weight boots and complicated cyber suit until all that remained on her toned body was a padded sports bra and her waist-high biker shorts. And still the observation room felt hot and stale from the rising air of Hall F below it. She thought about stripping herself completely once, but then logic reminded her that what she would lose would make very little difference. So, she was forced to endure.

No, she didn't care what the others would think when they walked into the long, narrow room to relieve her of her shift. She had never been one to care about the thoughts of others. Her change only accentuated that trait. And she didn't care if it made her seem less human.

'_Only one person has ever been silly enough to think I should care,_' the cyborg thought. Her cool vision focused on one section of the continuous windows that ran the entire length of the room's north side and, unwillingly, her robotic fingers curled around the plastic lips of her chair's arms. '_Why would I want that? Caring is vulnerability. It is pain. I know. He once convinced me to open up…I will not make that mistake twice._'

She didn't want to say she knew, but she did. She knew Donatello still longed for her to care. Years of working together wouldn't change that so easily. And even she admitted his influence had begun to wear on her. In September she had found herself not minding to help. She had helped rescue a clueless young woman from some Purple Dragons—though she spoke not of it to Donatello—and aiding the mutant turtle through some biological research hadn't weighed on her either.

And all that came after his blow.

Crack. One arm was no longer attached to the computer chair. '_He believes I am brainwashed,_' her mind continued while she tossed the broken object onto the long desk before her. It slightly cracked the bullet-proof glass it slid into. '_Well, he did before I found him four days ago. Judging by that shocked expression of his, he must have still retained faith in me, even after I took Leonardo. That is pure stupidity. He. Wronged. Me. He showed _me_ where I stood with him. And all his talk of kindness and fulfillment in helping were revealed to be nothing but bullshit. Did he think it didn't still hurt_?'

The second arm cracked. This, too, Melody tossed—but backwards, into the drywall as she stood and whirled like a hurricane at the passing image of Donatello's face through her memory. '_The idiot expects too much! I gave him a chance and he fucking blew it! He won't get any more than that. I'm tired of it—of everything! He should get it through his damn skull. I'm fine…not caring…I am.'_

Blood boiling down like the cutting off of a dam, the cyborg's body eased into a listless stance. Thoughts of her former friend were instantly replaced with snippets of her kidnap and change. The process had been long and painful and she had fought it through most of its stages. But she had since come to accept it—embrace it, even. Tabitha and Sven, they agreed too. They had a purpose here that didn't involve them being hurt.

Really, it's all the three ever wanted…

"Eh…cuse..Leo..do?" A little voice carried over the fan's constant hum. Melody recognized it as belonging to the little blonde girl Tabitha had picked up for Doctor Lombardo.

When the scantily-clothed cyborg headed towards two rows of flat-screen televisions mounted on the south wall, her robotic eye immediately found the night vision feed labeled "#10" in red magic marker over scotch tape. The green-tinted child stood in her cell and softly banged on the mesh wall that separated her from a neighboring cell. She said something more, though the microphone couldn't catch the words. And she received no reply from her neighbor.

Melody's gaze then shifted to another screen beside the child's—the one labeled '#9'. There, Leonardo's bulky form sat lifeless in the same, curled position from days ago. Which seemed strange, given that the mutant had thus far taken every chance he could to move—sedated or not. The cyborg knew he wasn't dead; she had returned from a run for Doctor Stephens on Tuesday and since then had been assigned by Doctor Lombardo to study the lingering effects of Veratrum Nigrum on the mutant's body.

She'd been there to see the full effects as well. What a sight that had been. The symptoms were more violent than when used on a human—faster acting, too. Leonardo's dry-heaving was the most brutal Melody had ever seen. After the bloody contents of his stomach were emptied on the once-sterile floor of a secondary cell used for intense observations, the scientists deduced that the mucosal membranes of the mutant's stomach must've been more sensitive to the herb's alkaloids. In a heated fury, he had described the classic signs of blurred vision, paresthesia, and an intense migraine, sometimes stomach cramps.

He remained completely lucid, though, if a bit distant. And his muscles remained strong as he fought, until the myoclonic twitches led to more extreme seizers that beat him against the bars. At that point, Lombardo had sought to ease the mutant's poisoning with sympathomimetic drugs and saline. But in spite of that, they had almost lost him when his heart arrhythmia grew into a challenge.

Melody hated to admit she felt a bit of fear while watching Leonardo's heart rate soar then drop and repeat in distressed beats on the monitor. Part of her had supplemented his existence with that of his younger brother, yet she refused to show any amount of her unwanted distress. The thought, actually, had successfully been pushed from her mind before the duo regained control over the mutant's health. So when Leonardo could finally be returned to Cell 9-F, Melody did so with little thought or feeling.

'_The myoclonic twitches remain with him_,' thought the cyborg as she noted the strange movement of Leonardo's arm. '_The after effects are not what keep him stationary, though…It is the fate of Abigail Bryant that does. He was screaming about her, Lombardo said—a while before I arrived. It seemed to strike him. I wonder why..._'

Abigail hadn't been special. She had arrived through other means before Melody began work at Black Lotus—probably thanks to the cyborg that had died of infection before her awakening—and several others had succumbed to the same failure of tissue degradation. It was no real surprise she followed suit since she was always quick to give in.

Her death struck Lombardo, of course; no scientist likes losing their resources or failing in a particular test. The good doctor's regeneration serum, which she fondly dubbed 'Recro-12', had been a particularly tender spot for as long as Melody could recall. So when Abigail's body betrayed her just as horrible as Mathew's body had betrayed him, Lombardo took time for herself, leaving the others to monitor Hall F more often.

Melody scoffed. '_I have pointed out the incompatibility of Recro-12 with the IgR research she stole from the Earth Protection Force. Yet she will not listen to reason. At the rate she is trying to solve matters, she will kill everyone here…_'

Damn. Why did that thought cause her chest to tighten some? She blamed the mutant's presence and what he reminded her of.

"Mister?" Kaiya's voice spoke up louder with a tinge of panic after her long pause. "Pl—please wake up, Mister Leonardo." A long sniffle crackled over the television's speakers as the little girl stretched her fingers through the barrier. "I—I'm scared. The man beside you…is scaring me."

Melody watched closely for Leonardo's response. But he didn't move. Kaiya sunk to the floor with a trembling whimper at his lifelessness. The whimper soon turned into sobbing that grew louder with the incoherent chatter of another video feed. The cyborg turned to it, the cell on Leonardo's other side.

Cell 8-F had just switched occupancy that evening because the man who took Abigail's spot had committed suicide overnight. The man once in Cell F-12 had been moved there, though Melody felt his mental health would fare better in solitary confinement since Donald had a habit of riling him up. But what did Melody know when compared to Doctor Lombardo?

"I'm scared," Kaiya said again. The cyborg's vision switched to Cell F-10's feed. The blonde now tucked her knees under her chin, with her hands covering her ears as if anticipating an explosion. She rocked herself, sobbing more, pleading for Leonardo's help in a small voice that Cell F-8's chatter soon drowned out. Even when Melody turned the volume up on the feed, she still couldn't make heads or tails of his mumbling. "Leonardo, please, he's _scaring_ me!"

The mutant's next twitch was not myoclonic; it was a jab back into reality. His torso straightened in seconds and after a dazed moment of staring forward, he faced Cell F-10, silent. He didn't call for Kaiya, but he did place a hand on the mesh wall—an action the little girl must've sensed because she instantly threw herself towards him, wrapping her little fingers around his large fingers in a desperate attempt for comfort. Melody forced down an unsettling pain at the sight, and instead focused on how calmly Leonardo moved when he scooted closer to the wall.

"Who's scaring you…Kaiya?" the mutant questioned, dull and hoarse.

"Th—the man"—Kaiya sniffled—"beside you. I—I—I don't like him saying so many things. It's scary."

"Oh?" Leonardo slowly craned his neck towards Cell F-8, paused, and then possibly smiled at the blonde. "You want me to talk to him for you?" Kaiya couldn't nod fast enough. "Alright. Wait here."

And the mutant somehow stood; although his shaky form practically collapsed when he faced the opposing fence. For a long time he sat. Melody guessed he—like her—had been taking time to decipher just what the thirty-some-year-old man in Cell F-8 had been muttering about.

The volume turned up louder. A few moments passed. Then Melody realized the chatter was lyrics; the man had been singing. Not well or continuously, but she had been able to catch a part that struck her harder than desired:

"_When the tears come streaming down your face._

_When you lose something you can't replace._

_When you love someone, but it goes to waste. _

_Could it be worse?"_

The cyborg found herself scowling at the sting in her left eye. Of all the songs he could pick, of all the ones that existed, why 'Fix You' by Coldplay? Fate sure loved screwing with her head, didn't it?

Growling, Melody forced her attention on Leonardo as Cell F-8 filled with another song she, thankfully, didn't recognize. At some point, Leonardo half-raised for a better view of the men's down-turned face. When he sat back on his large feet a few seconds later, he did so with little coordination and much shaking.

"I…I've seen you before," said Leonardo, just above a whisper. If Cell F-8's volume hadn't been turned up so loud, Melody wouldn't have been able to hear him. "Your name is Rupert, right? Rupert, can you hear me?"

"Rupert, me," the man stopped mid-song for a reply. He raised his head of tightly-curled hair, pointing at himself while glancing in Leonardo's direction. "I, Rupert."

"Yeah. And you have a friend named Sammy, right?"

"Sammy, sister," the man answered in a childish tone that shouldn't match an adult. "Sammy love Rupert."

Leonardo released a light, almost relieved, chuckle, saying, "I, uh, I had noticed. She was scared when you were alone in that alley."

"Ru—Rupert scared. Rupert want Sammy." Low voice suddenly broken, Rupert dropped his head again. He began tapping his palms against the concrete in tempo to the tune he'd stopped singing not long ago. "Scared. Rupert scared. Rupert no like this place…mean doctor lady…and man."

"You aren't the only one, Rupert," Leonardo grumbled. Had the camera angle been lower, Melody swore on her life she could've seen the ninja sneer before he continued, stern. "But we—we'll get out of here. We can't stay scared, alright? We need to—believe. Can you believe, Rupert?"

"Rupert want Sammy." Rupert's tone was growing more panicked, and Leonardo pulled himself closer to the barrier between them.

"Does Sammy make you feel safe?" he questioned.

"Sammy love Rupert."

"I know." The ninja exhaled deeply when the man flinched at his snap. "Your fear is scaring someone else, Rupert. You don't want to keep scaring her, do you?"

The shake of Rupert's head looked more like an attempt to sideways nod, but a drawled out 'Uh-uh' confirmed it was, in fact, a 'no'.

"I don't want anyone scared either. So, can you…uh…"

'_Yeah,_' Melody thought with a playful huff. '_How will you go about this, Leonardo? How do you tactfully tell someone whose only sanity lies in singing to simply stop it?_'

"You like music, right, Rupert?" added the mutant. Melody raised her only existing eyebrow while the curly-haired man lifted his hands in mild excitement. "Music makes you feel safe, doesn't it?"

"Sammy sings to Rupert," Rupert said. There was a hick in his words. A low moan, too. And he began rocking himself. "Sammy…sings…music make better."

"Well"—Leonardo hesitated a good while, glancing between the man and the silent Kaiya that watched on in wonder—"I…would you like to learn a song with me?" He spoke soft, unsurely. But when Rupert nodded—which was simply his 'no' with his head twisted the opposite direction—the ninja continued in a less awkward tone. "Okay. It's a Japanese folk song from the Edo Period, but easy to learn."

"Wh—what's it called?" Kaiya added gently.

Leonardo looked over his shoulder. "It's called 'Sakura, Sakura'. My, uh, my father used to sing it to me whenever I was scared or upset as a child."

"Really?" The blonde pulled herself up. "I want to learn it too!"

"All three of us can, then," replied Leonardo over Rupert's goofy cheer.

"Like friends?"

The mutant paused then laughed. "Yes, like friends. Let me sing it first."

Melody calmly stepped back from the video feeds then. She had no interest in learning the song; however, she didn't bother muting any of the feeds before she returned to her broken chair and useless fan.

* * *

Raphael had to ask himself one question: Why the hell did everyone feel a need to gang up on him? Michelangelo, Donatello, Master Splinter, and even Angel and Nia. They all acted like he didn't have a right to his feelings or couldn't handle his emotions alone.

Bullshit. He did and he could.

Between Leonardo's kidnap, Mikey's jabs about the hothead's supposed 'blindness', and Don's obnoxious resolve _not_ to brutally handle the cyborgs because of a secret _he_ kept from the clan—yeah, Raph had every right to his outbursts and dread and frustration. And his nightmares surely weren't something that needed to be discussed with anyone—especially since focus was needed elsewhere.

Still—somehow—everyone had it twisted in their minds that Raph was at fault for this current mess. How did they figure that? _He_ hadn't been the one to let Nia walk out of the Lair alone. And _he_ sure as hell didn't put her in a West Midtown hospital, either. If they wanted to go that route, then why didn't they blame themselves as well? All three of them (and Angel) had been busy with Don's 'electrical containment unit'—an electric box, basically—so none of them were home to stop her. Nia made the decision to walk alone. And not contact them when she was in trouble.

When she did call, it had been from a recovery room in Roosevelt Hospital. She had said she could be released that following morning and wanted to talk with Donny about something important. Mikey had been the one to push himself into the plans, though Raph followed suit since he wanted to witness his girlfriend's definition of 'just fine'. All three had informed Splinter then left.

By the resulting trip's end, however, he almost wished he hadn't of come at all; it'd been a half an hour of hell.

Mikey had a lot to say, apparently. But his and Raph's argument—or, more like, Mikey's constant accusations—had led to a stalemate by the time they reached Roosevelt Hospital. And since Raphael damn sure didn't feel like dealing with his little brother throughout the whole visit, he kept his distance from the youngest after the trio entered Nia's hospital room on the third floor.

Donny, always eager to keep the peace, hadn't protested to standing guard between the two glaring mutants. Honestly, though, Raph had a bone to pick with him as well. The genius hadn't been much help in the argument. He agreed with Mikey. Yeah, he didn't exactly say he did, but Raph knew. And it pissed him off.

"I—I'm, uh, glad you found the room, guys," Nia's small voice broke through Raphael's thoughts, drawing his attention from his purple-banded brother to his girlfriend in a stark-white bed. She tried smiling under the bright globe light above her, yet the drugs in her system left her with a rather lazy expression. And the bandage over her left cheek, attached intravenous line in her arm, and wrapped temple looked less than positive. "The nurses just checked on me. Th—they shouldn't be back for a few hours. But Daddy went to do some paperwork…or something. I"—the young woman opened her eyes wide and blinked slowly before lightly shaking her head—"I don't know when he'll be back."

"What do they have you on?" Donatello questioned first. Raph sensed the genius' gaze land on the closed door, probably to check its security.

"Oh, you know," the human answered with a nervous rub of her casted left wrist. "Some Vicodin. Or Morphine. I think."

'_She definitely talks like there's some good painkillers in her,_' thought Raph when he noted a low drawl in her tone and the way she caught herself spacing out.

"Nia, what happened?" Michelangelo asked in a broken voice. Without delay, the orange-donned mutant stepped into the light his brothers still avoided. Don reached for him, whispering his name, but the youngest didn't stop until he grasped Nia's non-casted hand. "Nia," he added, as if in disbelief. "Wha—why didn't you call us?"

Nia's smile died under Mikey's worried expression and she paused long before saying, slowly, "Even if I had called, it would've been too late. I—I was just doing what you guys would've done."

"What?" Raph roared. He stepped forward, though Don forced him back as Nia's glazed eyes drifted his way. "How do ya figure?"

"I wanted to help," the pale human croaked. Raph hated how her wide gaze glistened with possible tears, yet his frustration overshadowed his concern for them.

"Ya still should'a called us," he said through gritted teeth.

"Why? So you would think I can't handle anything on my own?" Nia's frown darkened; the dimming light above her added to that effect. In seconds, a pricking sensation worked its way under the mutant's tough skin and, though the act was very tempting, he refused to shiver at it.

"What are ya talkin' about?" his gruff voice questioned.

"I've been telling you he's dumb," grumbled Mikey, twisting his head away with a scoff. The light dimmed more then began flickering.

"I handled it, okay?" Nia added in a lighter tone. "On my own."

"Ya weren't supposed ta be on yer own!" Disregarding Donatello's block completely, the jacketed-mutant stormed forward. Even under his glare and heavy breathing, though, his girlfriend's face remained impassive. He couldn't help but growl when she didn't flinch at his pointed finger. "Yer wit' us now"—he continued with an equal amount of rage as his actions—"so that means we don't do things on our own. If we're in trouble, we know when ta call for help!"

Suddenly, the lights ceased their flicker.

"You don't admit help." Nia's simple phrase silenced the whole room—according to Raphael's ears, at least. In a numbed state under his girlfriend's dead gaze, he almost asked a very stupid question. But he bit it down in time for the human to continue. "I got the power cell."

"You what?" Donatello interjected from behind.

"It's why I wanted to talk with Donny first." Shifting uncomfortably against the bed's plastic headboard, Nia sighed. "In my walk, I, uh, stopped at Oswald Cybernetics Corporation because I noticed something…off. Really, I just wanted to ease my paranoia, so I checked it out. So—someone was stealing from it."

"Stealing from an already stolen place?" Michelangelo asked incrudiously.

The human nodded. "It was a woman. A redhead. She'd dropped the power cell while"—she took a deep breath—"while she lowered a body."

"Wait, so she _kidnapped_ someone as well?"

"Who?" asked Don before Mikey's inquiry was fully voiced.

"Doctor Jason Marx," Nia answered glumly.

"As in the Doctor Marx from that photograph with Stockman, Doctor Marx?"

The human nodded at Michelangelo, gaze drifting between him and Donatello, who had just arrived by Raphael's side. "He…was an old partner of Daddy's back when he worked at Erudio. I—I only met him a few times when I was eleven, but I recognized him."

"Why would she want him?" the youngest Hamato wondered out loud.

"A biotechnological scientist and a power cell could mean something big," Don added, somber. "Did she—"

"I—I'm sorry," Nia said with a tremble to her words and gaze. "I barely got away with the power cell. I—I know stealing isn't—I know. But you _need_ it Donny." Her voice broke into little sobs. "I know you do. So you can talk with Melody. And get Leo. That's why I _couldn't _let it go."

"I would never"—Don stepped closer to meet Nia's glossy eyes—"_never_, ask you to take a beating like this—even for something I really needed."

Nia gave a weak smile through the tears that began to run freely down her reddened cheeks. "Asking wasn't necessary. I took a chance to help, so that—that's what I did. It's all I want to do…"

Raph very distinctly sensed a dirty look from his younger brother when the human's head dropped. He couldn't understand it. How was Nia's twisted sense of helping also his fault?

"Where's the power cell now?" Donny questioned after a silent moment.

"I managed to—to hide it before I collapsed." Nia's head didn't lift as she spoke. "It's still in Midtown. But…"

"But what?" Raphael added.

His girlfriend's gaze met his face for a second. "It—it's drained."

"How?" This time, Mikey spoke—loud and surprised.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Nia matched her best friend in projection when her head jerked up, earning a 'calm down' motion from Don and an arched eye ridge from Raph. She gaped at them, lost for words, and then twisted her unbroken hand into the sheets around her hips. "I can't—I can't explain it," she continued as her head dropped again. "Like everything else about me, I can't explain it. I just know…a broken wrist, a few gashes, and two fractured ribs isn't every injury that woman gave me."

"Nia," Don said cautiously, "are you saying you somehow drained the cell and…healed yourself?"

"I don't"—the woman's body shook with her soft voice under the touch Mikey gave her shoulder—"All I know is that I got away because of something that happened with the cell. A flash or something. And when I did, I did so on a broken leg. And puncture wound in my shoulder. Both of which weren't there when I woke up. I don't…I don't understand."

"The fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Raphael—along with his brothers—rounded towards the wide open door. There, Raph met a sight that worsened his already bad night. A clearly-fuming Gavin stormed in without the consideration to close the door, his six-foot height looming over them all, save for Donatello. Nia attempted a protest when he stopped with a glare, yet her father silenced her with a look—a look that brought Raph's blood to a boil. He wanted nothing more than to stand and fight against the alpha—he even prepared himself for a scream. Unfortunately, the open door quickly forced the Chūnins near the darkened window they came through earlier.

"Get the hell out," the redheaded man seethed towards them. His cruel green eyes quickly found Raph, even in the darkness. "It's because of _you_ she's here."

"Daddy—"

Gavin pointed towards the window, ignoring his daughter's plea. "Out!" he cried in disdain. "Every one of you! I don't want any of you near my daughter _ever_ again! You hear me? _Ever_!"

"Raph, we have to go," Don said urgently. Still, Raph fought the strong grip his genius brother kept on his bicep until a chorus of concerned nurses echoed in the calls. "Raph, come on. Now!"

Mikey exited first. Then Donny. Raphael kept his carapace towards the open window the whole time—gaze locked in a glaring match with the tall human while he slowly backed up. The redhead had the nerve to block Nia completely so her eyes remained off her boyfriend, and the mutant ensured with every ounce of his being Gavin knew he hated him for doing so. As the outside's cold bite spread across Raph's neck and a nurse entered the room, the hothead finally exited as well.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So, there's still some humanity left in Mel while Kaiya and Rupert are keeping Leo sane (poor babies). Raph's...being a hypocrite. Oi. Now Nia has a new aspect to her bloodline? If only she came with a guide. She'd appreciate that. LOL.  
Crap really hits the fan next in "Grave". Marina gives Hugh some trouble, Amanda makes more plans, but most of all, hell breaks loose between Mikey and Raph.


	18. Grave

**Author's Notes:** Take my love, Big (Avian) Six. ;3  
Gavin and Raph. The two most stubborn *censored* I've ever had to write! Even with me knowing _things_ about Raph, it still drives me insane. And because of it, prepare for some fireworks. D'Fuentes, that wasn't intentional. It's just how the story progressed. LOL.  
**Disclaimer: **TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 18 - ****Grave**

Hugh glanced at Marina. She had just exited the bathroom connected to their master suite and yet, despite a long shower, she still looked dead on her feet, wrapped tight in a thick towel. Such lifelessness seemed unnatural for his wife. To him, she was fire, electricity. She always had a clever retort and a spark in her dark eyes. So as the woman neared their king-size bed on which he sat, looking very much like a zombie, he couldn't force a smile because of the burden on his chest.

"Rina?" he asked, pained. She sighed. "You should sleep."

"H—how can I, Hugh?" Marina sat beside her husband, but didn't touch or face him. Instead, she stared at the floor, though Hugh was quite sure its cream color was not what she saw. "It's day thirteen and what do we know? Nothing. For all your leads and work, we still know _nothing_."

"That's not true." Repressing a scowl, Hugh scooted towards his wife to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "We've made strong connections."

"No, what you've done is delve into a mess," the dark-tan woman retorted bitterly. "It's what you like to do, Hugh—unearth a whole lot of crap even when it leads in circles."

"Are you telling me I'm just…wasting time?" Try as he may, the man's deep voice matched in bitterness, and he met Marina's narrowed gaze with a mild glare of his own, his grip tightening.

"You're a good investigator, Hugh. But you like to nit-pick things and even when the case isn't yours, you try to solve it. You"—Marina partly scoffed—"You're obsessive over the strangest of details."

"And"—Hugh frowned—"that all matters right now because?"

"You've found a means of connecting Kaiya with the Little Red Robberies you've been dying to be assigned to for months."

"I didn't force the connection, Marina; it happened."

"And where has it led you? Tell me."

Mouth pressed tight, the African-American sent his wife a pointed look. "It's led to the identification of Kaiya's kidnappers."

"Possible identification," Marina corrected with a sharp edge in her tone.

"No. We're _positive_ we know who the group is."

"Because of your 'sources', right?" A sneer worked its way across the woman's aged face, twisting it in unflattering ways that caused Hugh to draw his arm back. "Do you know how old that gets? Not knowing a name? How can you _possibly_ know someone with that sort of information?"

"Marina—" Hugh closed his mouth when his wife raised a hand.

"You clearly don't know what it's like being married to you," she started, strangely even. "I've dealt with it for so long, but…you—you're gaining too many secrets. You're the only man I know who could see something abnormal about a house fire or even _suggest_ cyborgs are responsible for robberies. And somehow you know more about cases that aren't yours than you should because of some so-called sources. Are they policemen? Possibly some of the FBI agents roaming around?"

"I—I can't say." The man barely kept his voice from breaking, especially once Marina's plump lip began to quiver. "I'm sorry. Really. They can't be named; for their own safety."

"Who would I tell?"

"I'm not worried about you…telling."

"You're worried I'll want to meet them, right?"

Hugh kept a straight face. "I know you, Rina. But you…you shouldn't."

"Why?" Rising from the bed, the stocky woman balled her hands into fists that shook softly beside her partially-bare thighs.

"Just trust me."

"I'm _trying_ to, Hugh!" Marina's voice broke terribly, her narrowed eyes now glistening. She meant to go on, but stopped to swallow a lump in her throat first. When she continued, she did so in a hoarse whisper, "God, I'm trying, Hugh. But even through all this, looking for Kaiya…I feel like I'm losing you. Your obsessiveness has only grown this year. And these people—your 'sources' and Kyle—they make it _worse_. I can't"—the woman bit her lip to keep tears away then croaked pitifully—"you share things with me that don't make sense then expect blind _trust_? When you don't even give me the same courtesy?"

"I don't mean to be unfair," said Hugh softly. He reached for his wife's wrist, but she stepped away.

"I want to tell them _all_ to leave you alone!" the woman screamed while slicing the air ahead of her with her arms. Hugh jumped at the volume and the fingers that barely missed his nose. "I know I'm a terrible person for saying so, but I do. I want my husband back. I don't want them dragging you down with them. I don't want you…I don't want you to end up like Kyle Erlich."

"Kyle?" Brows knit, Hugh stood. He approached his wife in full confidence she wouldn't slap him and wrapped his long arms around her thick waist. She didn't fight his hold, yet her figure did stiffen, eyes set on the man's unbuttoned dress shirt. "Is that what this is about?"

"That's the future I see for you," answered Marina flatly. "Alone, paranoid, no credibility, crappy apartment filled to the brim with theories and newspaper clippings. You can destroy yourself this way. Go to your grave as a madman."

"I wouldn't let that happen, Rina," Hugh countered. His throat tightened at the tremble within his wife. "I see things others don't. That's all. And in doing so I've made…connections."

"Hugh—"

"Just listen. I would never immerse myself in my theories as deeply as Kyle does, okay? I promise you. I know I haven't been able to tell you everything and I'm sorry. I _really_ am. Regardless, I need you to stand by me anyway, so Blaine, Jennifer, and Megan don't lose themselves. I need you to hang on. For me. _Please_. One day…it'll all make sense."

"Do—do you promise that too?" Marina croaked as Hugh drew in a shaky breath through the vanilla scene of her conditioner.

"I…"

"Thought so." Slowly, the woman's arms returned her husband's embrace, pulling him as close as possible. "Fine…Did they fall asleep while I was in the shower?"

Hugh rested his chin awkwardly on his wife's damp head, which barely reached his shoulder height. "Yeah, they did," he answered, low. A better part of him chose to refrain from mentioning Megan had cried herself to sleep and Jennifer basically passed out while walking into the spare bedroom. "Blaine's with them, hopefully sleeping as well. And Kyle's back at his place. I'm waiting for his call, but…Jez's been taking up the line instead."

"Summers?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"Don't know." The lean man shrugged. "It's happened a few times. I answer, but there's no reply. Then she hangs up."

"Doesn't sound like her."

"No, it doesn't. If I get time, I'll go visit her. But right now?" Hugh gathered his wife into his arms and forced her onto the large bed behind them. Her towel unhooked in the process, but it wasn't like either of them minded. Even with it falling down, Marina drew her body against Hugh with her face still buried into his chest. He sent her a light smile, though she couldn't see him, saying, "We should sleep too."

The woman didn't protest in the least.

* * *

The last face Michelangelo wanted to see happened to be the only face that met him in the Lair's living room. Yeah, he had asked for the remote from the kitchen table. No, he wouldn't have done so if he had known it was Raphael behind him. Not that the red-banded mutant would do as asked anyway. Expectedly, he rounded the worn couch and sat on the opposite end from Mikey, flipping the channel from cartoons to pre-recorded wrestling.

Perhaps the normalcy of it is what caused a fire to flare in the youngest's chest. Or perhaps it was the stress. Maybe a bit of both? He couldn't quite decide in his muddied mind, and stood violently from his seat so he could direct a glare at his elder brother.

"What's yer problem?" Raph questioned, derisive in his Brooklyn accent.

Mikey snatched the remote from the hothead's loose grip and muted the television without glancing at it. "Shouldn't you be somewhere?"

"I am somewhere, Mike. Now give it back."

"No." To keep the remote out of focus, the orange-banded ninja tossed it back into the kitchen area. A blunt 'clank' chimed against the concrete, yet at Raphael's pointed look, the youngest Hamato stood taller, folding his arms. "You shouldn't be here."

The hothead flashed his own glare and folded his arms as well. "Uh, this is my place too, Shell-For-Brains."

"You _know_ what I mean, Raph."

"Whatever."

Avoidance; meant Mikey was right. "She called, didn't she?"

Right on the nail; the red-banded mutant didn't meet his brother's narrowed eyes. "It's none 'a yer—"

"Don't give me that bull!" Mikey snapped. His six-finger grip tightened along his tense biceps; he couldn't help it. "Shouldn't you be going to get her?"

"She ain't comin'," Raph hissed in return. "Her father broke up the call, so she'll be on lockdown."

"You think?" He didn't care if a scoff were wrong; he used one anyway. His older brother stood at it, side-stepping him in spite of how hard the youngest gripped his arm.

"Let go, Mikey." It wasn't a request or mild demand. It was a threat. Still, Michelangelo didn't let go.

He met the narrowed pair of amber eyes evenly, saying, "Do you really think she'll stay? Her father can't watch her forever, and she's been discharged by now. Y—you should be bringing her back."

"Why?" The pure suddenness of Raph's heated tone stole air from Mikey's lungs.

"Why?" he parroted, soft with disbelief. He shook his head then strongly added, "Because she's your fucking girlfriend—_that's_ why!"

"If she returns, she'll only bring more trouble on herself," Raphael replied while pulling back his arm.

"Are you…are you serious?"

"Look. I hate Gavin. Simple an' true. But he looks out for Nia."

"Like _you_ should."

After a stiff moment, Raph continued with a darkened gaze. "Gavin will make sure she's safe. Keep her out 'a fights. It's probably better—"

"No"—Mikey interjected disdainfully—"Absolutely not. How can you even think that's better? _How_?"

"Ya saw what she got herself inta."

"And you know whose fault that is? _Yours_!"

It didn't matter if anyone else could hear him so late at night. Mikey couldn't control his voice anymore. Nor his actions, it seemed. Before he knew it, he shoved Raphael harshly in the plastron with the butt of his palms, sneering. Part of him felt relieved the hothead maintained his ground; another part wished he had hit the ground, to knock some sense into that thick skull of his.

"The hell?" Raph asked in indignant defense.

Mikey shook his head. "Why do that to her?" he whispered.

"Do? What?"

The puzzled look on Raph's face caused Mikey to silently scream. "You are _not_ that blind!"

"I swear, none 'a my clan makes sense anymore. How can all ya think _I_ did something wrong?"

"Because you did!" Twisting away, Mikey spared a few strides to calm his anger. It did little good for the heat surging through his veins, and even less good for the sense of pain that shot through his chest at the thought of Nia's downcast face. When he faced Raphael again, it was done rigidly because the hothead's scowl roused a new sense of rage. "Cause and effect, Dude," he said through heated seethes. "She got herself hurt because she felt she had something to prove. To you."

At Mikey's pointed finger, Raph rolled his eyes. "I never said she had ta prove anything."

"You didn't have to; you kept telling her she doesn't have a place here."

"What? No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did."

"When have I ever said something like that?"

"I _swear_, you're so _stupid_! Every time you tell her there isn't anything she can do, every time you claim Angel's helping more, you might as well tell her she doesn't have to be with us at all!"

"That ain't what I meant when I said 'dose things," Raph countered, teeth gritting. "It's a fact: Angel has more ta offer right now!"

"No. No, she doesn't. Without Leo, we've all been running around, trying to scrounge for order and maintain our bearings while he's gone. Angel hasn't helped us with that; she's only been fighting for answers—like you. But you know who has?" Here, Mikey paused, tone and glare bitter. "Nia. _She's_ the one that's been supporting Don. _She's_ the one that's been trying to find alternate ways of helping. _She's_ been making sure we eat and sleep and has been keeping us from losing our ground fully. _She_ has. Not Angel! And you're stupid, Raph—_stupid_—for turning a blind eye to that."

"Alright"—the hothead spoke softer than expected—"that's true. But none of that stuff has helped us find Leo."

Had he really said that? Were those the words he chose in return? Michelangelo could hardly believe it. All the good Raphael had beside him, and he regarded it as if it were unimportant or a burden. His nonchalant expression only fueled the surrealism of the moment, though the rage from before soon weighed the youngest down, shaking his form.

"You know, Angel hasn't done anything better," he noted strenuously.

The hothead groaned. "I'm gettin' tired 'a this. What's yer point?"

"My _point_ is that you should treat your girlfriend better."

"I treat her just fine. So why does everyone got an opinion on how I should handle my relationship?"

"Because we care what happens to it, Raph—_both_ sides."

"An' what makes any 'a ya qualified ta get in my business?"

"In this case, all we need is what you lack: common sense. You should listen to me if you want to make things work with Nia!"

"Oh?" Snorting in fury, Raphael approached Michelangelo, relentless in his glare as he asked, "An' how many girlfriends have ya had, Mike? Oh, right; there was one ya liked an' she got _killed_ 'cuz of it."

Swish! Mikey was helpless against his muscles. Without consent, they slugged his fist clean across Raph's face like a movie in slow motion. Pure rage fueled it. Rage from the memories of Bishop. Rage from the injustice against his first crush. But most of all, rage from Nia's despair. The world picked up speed as Mikey's arm finished its swing, and he didn't feel an ounce of regret when his brother hit the floor.

"_Don't_ mention her—_ever_," the youngest said, quiet yet indignant.

The hothead knew he had overstepped his bounds; that's why he remained silent while holding his cheek and kept his vision grounded.

"This is stupid," the orange-banded Chūnin added in a harsh whisper. "You're stupid. Why are you having such a hard time acknowledging what Nia's done is every bit as helpful as what Leo would do if one of us went missing?"

"She ain't Leo," retorted Raph, glancing up with darkened eyes.

Mikey sneered at him. "You're right. She's supposed to be _your_ girlfriend. And, frankly, I'm surprised she's still at your side."

"If yer so in tune wit' her then why ain't ya the one daitin' her?"

Pop. Crack. Sizzle. Abruptly, the room grew black in wake of several strange noises from the electronics. The lights, the televisions, the blender in the kitchen—all of them cried before a grim silence settled in. Power outage? Not quite; the pins and needles sensation through the air meant something else—something far worse. It pained Mikey's chest for the first time, like heartburn from bad pizza, and his vision clouded as he back-stepped from the couch. His eyes couldn't pinpoint Nia, even once they adjusted to the dark; so he was left standing numbly as the sensation eased then ceased.

She was gone.

"Damn," Raph whispered from his brother's side. He'd stood at some point and now stared at the open entrance of the Lair.

Mikey couldn't face him; the will wasn't in him. He laughed sardonically instead, gaining attention he no longer cared for.

"This grave is all yours," he said while turning around. His body felt suspended from gravity as he walked and before he reached the stairs, he spoke over his shoulder, "Oh, and, I _would_ date Nia in a heartbeat…if she weren't so hung up on _you_. Guess that might change now, huh?"

An answer wasn't something he really wanted, so he headed up the stairs, numb to even his own thoughts.

* * *

Amanda snickered. Not in amusement, surely, but for theatrics. In a metal chair before her sat a robust man with disarrayed, curly hair and a nervous tick in his arm. He stared back at her with dark, sunken eyes and gulped as she circled his seat, licking his wide mouth on occasion.

"Do ya want to repeat that to me, Doctor Marx?" the redhead asked while eyeing the man's overgrown goatee.

"I—I said"—he gulped again—"It's not p—possible."

"Not possible."

"That's right."

"Is it now?" Clicking her tongue, Amanda fingered a blade inside her jacket pocket in anticipation. "Now that's where ya lose me."

"I—I'm sorry, Miss," managed Marx through shakes. But the redhead sent him a patronizing looks as she passed.

"Oh, no yer not," she said derisively.

"I—I am. What you're asking of me is—"

"Say impossible and I'll cut out yer tongue," Amanda hissed as she produced the knife she had been feeling. She frowned at Marx's sigh then rounded him so she could lean forward with her weight supported through her arms on the chair's back. "Yer goal at Oswald has been all about alternative prosthetics for amputees using biocybernetics," she continued in a harsh whisper beside his head. "What I'm askin' is the same principle."

"Except you have no disabilities," the man shot back before Amanda raised a petite dagger to his chubby throat.

She smirked, watching several beads of sweat run down his heated face. "Only my physical limitations. Those are enough. So do it."

"A change of the caliber you're asking for…" With the last bit of his courage, Marx shook his head. "You kidnap me from my lab then expect this of me?"

"Um." Amanda pretended to think. "Yes."

"It's—"

"Possible. I've seen it done before."

"What?"

"Yup. And yer gunna be the next to do it."

"W—why me? Why"—the doctor turned his head slightly to meet Amanda's cool gaze—"why would you go through this much trouble to…mutilate yourself? To risk your life when you have no—"

"It's simple, really," the redhead added with a feminine snort. The blade cut deeper into the man, to keep him silent. "I like power. This change is power. I do this; I can get anything I want. It's what I deserve."

She could tell by the look in Marx's dark eyes that he didn't believe her—not that last bit, anyway. Just like the rest of them. She hated such a look, and her control broke as she snarled, pressing the blade harder until he choked.

"It's doesn't matter what ya think. Yer gunna help me. Yer the most qualified to do so, that's why ya were chosen. I managed to grab another power cell to help along, so get started. That is…unless ya would rather dig yer own grave instead." She sniggered again, though this time she could feel the fear emanating from the doctor's warmth as he said,

"F—fine…I'll do it."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Poor Marina, having to be left out. Meanwhile, Nia and Raph's relationship is put to the test. Can't comment on that without spoilers so...ENDURE! Next, we jump back to Black Lotus, Mel and Leo, with "What's Justice?".


	19. What's Justice?

**Author's Notes:** Big Six love! No problem, Raven. Also, comment about Amanda made me snort laugh (funny and you have no idea yet). Me too, Feather. I have future plans for Marina, so. *wink* As for Nia and Raph. Arguments will come. I hope to get to the first before I leave for vacation. ;) Now, onto Black Lotus!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 19 - ****What****'****s Justice?**

Melody studied. She was known for it, actually, so she felt no sense of shame or embarrassment as her inquisitive vision covered the mostly-naked forms of her comrades—or, loosely, friends. Behind two shields of curved glass, Tabitha and Sven were cradled by black wires and tubes that wrapped around their naked limbs like overgrown ivy. They were distorted by a faint sedative fog whirling inside their pods, yet the cyborg could pinpoint the straps keeping them upright against the mats at their pod's back.

Doctor Stephens called it a restful sleep, though it resembled a new age coffin. Is this how numb she looked when she was shut down for repairs and improvements? Did she look this…vulnerable? The two cyborgs held the faces of children in their states, expressions eased and equally unsuspecting of what could happen if the wrong wire short-circuited or a tube fell from place.

They had never looked this peaceful before. Perhaps what's why Melody found it unnerving.

Two months ago, Tabitha's round, Nubian features held an air of constant mischievousness. Her slightly-protrusive eyes singled out future victims for teasing, and her scrawny body never once relaxed. She was guarded, through and through—even when others saw her as a friend. That childishness air no longer existed thanks to Daniel Stephens.

Now, Tabitha walked like a soldier.

Her fray of tight ringlets was cut into a close helmet of black and one would think the heavy cybernetics attached across her form would weigh her down. They didn't. Her already long legs were extended by chunky boots from the shin, meant for rocket propulsion. And the collapsible wings on her back folded into a smooth shell that was permanently wired into her spine. Like Melody, a single eye was converted into a robotic replica, though the slim, metal plating around it didn't bleed down her slender neck or over her shoulder, like the blonde's.

The Flyer. That's what Stephens called her. How original. Scoffing slightly, Melody's eyes left the stupid smile across Tabitha's large lips and fell onto the pod beside her.

Sven. The Planner. He didn't change much from his former self. Then again, there hadn't been much to change. Melody associated with him because he wasn't as high-strung as others their age. He always sat quietly, observing through lifeless green eyes from a secluded corner.

Those eyes have since changed. As the so-called 'Brains' of the group, Stephens modified Sven for mental enhancement. Because of this, cybernetic changes focused on Sven's head. His spiked layers of bright orange hair were shaved to reveal thick scars from a past he never talked about. Beneath that, a visor-like device wrapped from one eye, around the back of his skull, to the other eye.

Outside the pod, the redhead wore a sleek helmet, which protected the sensitive wires beneath his scalp. It locked into place with the visor's edge along his angled jaw, so his tall, refined nose and cleft chin still showed. But protection isn't the only thing the helmet provided. With it, Sven's mind held the capabilities of a wireless supercomputer. He could send out and access radio signals, track satellite feeds, and who knows what else, if given the chance.

Yet Stephens still modified Sven's hands into gloves capable of overriding most key locks or producing simple weapons such as slender knives. Why? For contingency purposes, probably. Still, another part of Mel believed the doctor had done it for fun. Or because he could. He did treat them like his own version of Frankenstein's Monster…

"This is the first time they've been asleep and you haven't, isn't it, Melody?"

Unblinking, calm, Melody twisted in her seat on a table's edge. "You never arrived at the lab for the diagnosis of my arm."

"Is that why you're in my private study unattended?" The jovial elder man smiled behind his bush beard, except the action felt like a cover, as if he were holding back rage.

"I deduced this would be the perfect place to find you, Doctor," the blonde replied while slipping off her seat.

The man straightened the lab coat over his short, round figure and met Mel's cool gaze with strained control. "Even my _cousin_ isn't allowed in."

"Forgive me, Doctor; you gave me no alternative."

He must've sensed the unwanted edge in the cyborg's tone, yet held his ground anyway, looking unconcerned with her possible power. "Yes, I know. Velma called me for an impromptu meeting."

"Speaking of your cousin."

"Yeah." The man sighed and rounded Melody. "She called both me and Lombardo. Apparently, the company's still in the red, despite help from her underground connections and she has this need to complain about it."

"Connections?" Arms crossed, the blonde followed the Indian's moves, watching closely as he tidied up loose papers, disks, tools, and vials around the office.

"You think we could afford researching our life-changing goals with simple grants?"

"Not to mention how society frowns on _your_ particular methods, Doctor."

"Yes, well…" The man paused with a sneer that died after a laugh. "What's necessary is necessary. The Purple Dragons have given enough to sustain us through the years. Still, until Recro-12 is perfected, our funds are in a bind."

"You borrowed money from the _Purple Dragons_?" Melody's voice rose in surprise and anger. She didn't believe she was capable of such feeling over their name. Guess she was wrong.

"You've had dealings with the gang before?" Stephens asked with a dry smile. He mustn't have liked the cyborg's sudden burst of emotion.

"What street kid hasn't?" retorted Mel, still bitter.

The doctor snorted softly. "No money was borrowed. Velma made an exchange. Hun would give her means to fund my research and when it reached the perfect point, I would convert some of his soldiers into cyborgs."

"You aided crime to—"

"Desperate means, Melody. It's not as if two or three _toys_ will make much difference with the gang, anyway. Hun is a poor leader with narrow creativity. He can hardly do anything himself."

Melody found the sparkle in Stephens' dark eye unsettling, even when he turned to place a few books on a shelf. Strange. Fear didn't rear so easily anymore. Or it shouldn't.

"The cyborgs before you were, naturally, a disaster. Lombardo's work with Recro-12 is what saved you three and Hun's men from infection during the integration period. However, perfection looms in the distance. It's capable of small feats, but larger ones—"

"Result in failures like Abigail Bryant."

Having settled the books, Stephens turned, a whimsical look on his tanned face. "I was going to say 'larger ones wait in the near future'. Think positive once and while, Melody."

"And how many people will die in the meantime?"

"Don't tell me you care. I thought for sure you, above everyone else, understood all we're trying accomplish here. Expenditures are inevitable."

Expenditures? He didn't mean cash, did he? Melody managed a lazy sigh, to play off the mild anxiety prodding at her chest. She bypassed Stephens, glancing at Tabitha's and Sven's pods, and rounded the table until she met a tall, long bookcase on the room's west wall. Her eyes roamed the various knickknacks along its wooden shelves, lingering on a line-up of mini African masks.

"You designed our masks after this series," she commented. "What made you choose them?"

"Their meaning, of course," Stephens replied. "An African mask is a strong symbol representing severe emotion and spiritual strength."

"Odd; you are not one for spiritual things…or emotion." Words dull, the cyborg touched the edges of the mask that resembled hers.

Stephens chuckled when her hand fell. "Quite so. But it represents strength all the same. I find myself…drawn to them. Like power. A mask can instill fear and that series is quite fierce. Especially in the dark. I told Velma to use them in the company décor, but she said the message wasn't right."

"The purpose of Black Lotus is to bloom in the darkness and rise as an unexpected beauty," Melody quoted, monotonous.

"Who fed you that crap?" Melody faced Stephens abruptly, but he smiled and spoke again without a trace of contemptuousness, "You've met my cousin, haven't you?"

"Once. In passing. I wanted to know what she…"

What was that? Melody paused where the bookcase ended. Something protruded from the cluster of encyclopedias. A stick. Or…lever? The longer she stared, the more she noticed a slight crack in the seam between one bookcase and another. That would be expected—if one of those bookcases weren't tilting into the wall.

"I think you've been here long enough," Stephens said near a snap. At some point, he had crossed the room and gripped the robotic hand Melody outstretched towards the books. With a slight push, he separated her from the wall, amusement lost.

"What am I to do then, Doctor?" Melody questioned. It was hard not to glance at the crack, but she managed to mask her curiosity with a listless gaze. "I meant to spend the day aiding you through projects."

The short man laughed as he guided the cyborg towards the door of his office. "Always the busybody, wanting to know my inner workings. Guess I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."

"Chosen?" Melody tried to turn, but a rise of mixed emotions left her pliable against her creator's rough hands.

"Too many questions today, Miss Gray. Too many!" The words sounded light. It was doubtful that they were, though. "I may request a run later when the others wake up. Meanwhile, why don't you help Lombardo with Hall F or I? Perhaps J. I'm sure she would appreciate it."

"Doctor—"

Stephens whirled Melody outside the door with more force than expected from a man his size. "I've told your three _not_ to call me Doctor," he snapped with narrowed eyes. He tested her with them, and she admitted they sent a chill through her hardware. "Lombardo calls me that. What do _you_ call me?"

"Master," the blonde answered in a whisper.

"Correct." Releasing her, Stephens stepped back with no trace of anger—as if he were another person. He smiled brightly, saying, "The diagnosis can wait. It was nice talking with you, Melody. But I must get back to research. I'll see you later, right?"

"Right…"

Stephen's eyes narrowed partially.

"Right, _Master_."

The reply must've pleased him. A brief laugh later, the Indian waved goodbye then locked himself in his office after slamming the door shut. Melody stood at its threshold, not quite sure what to make of her creator's behavior. Or that secret compartment.

* * *

Finally, they were asleep for the night. Leonardo's smile instantly dropped into a frown and his poised body slumped against the back of his cell. A tired weight in his limbs kept them where they fell, but he no longer cared where they rested. Blinking, his heavy eyes drifted from Rupert's sleeping form on the left to Kaiya's on the right. Then, he sighed.

'_It's so hard pretending,_' he thought when his head lolled against his nuchal scute. '_But I must. Kaiya's a kid and Rupert isn't better. They need someone; strength…God knows the others won't offer any of theirs._'

Paige was one exception. Yet she talked so little that Leo overlooked her existence; the snide banter of Joseph and Donald in Hall F always drowned her out. Those two acted a lot like Donatello and Raphael, especially when in a middle of a fight. Joseph with his critical thinking. Donald quick to use sarcasm and anger. Of course, Don wasn't nearly as dark or snappy as Joseph. And Raph would never cut down others as often as Donald did.

Still, the similarities resonated in Leonardo. And whenever they started an argument, the Jonin couldn't help interfering—like an instinct. Even when he felt crushed inside, he had to say something. Like when…

He sighed once more.

"Thinking about her again, Leonardo?" Joseph questioned. His blunt tone was soft, diminished by the distance and mesh fences between the human and mutant.

Leonardo drew his eyes forward and felt them prickle. "It just…hit me again," he whispered back.

"You should let it go; it happens. And it won't be the last time."

"H—how?" Swallowing a lump in his throat, the Jonin clenched his hands at the thought of life fading from pained, dark eyes. "How can you say that so frankly?"

"Because it's truth."

"Only if you accept it as such."

With a slow run of a hand through his slick hair, Joseph shifted until upright on his bed. "You're a tenacious one. But tenacity won't keep you alive. Nothing will."

Leo's head shook, though it roused dizziness. "You shouldn't—"

"Think like that? So you keep saying. Maybe such talk works for the kids. But…you and I know better. At one point or another, we'll _all_ end up like Abigail."

"_No_!" The Jonin spoke suddenly—so much that he jolted his own heart.

Joseph, however, casually rested his head in one hand. "You haven't seemed as certain about our survival since you returned from Lombardo's experiment. Are you sure you aren't saying this for your own sake?"

No. No, he wasn't. Unfortunately, Leo couldn't repeat the phrase; it stuck in his throat like thick tar.

"Lie to yourself all you want. But don't expect the rest of us to follow suit."

"It's not a lie," the mutant countered with new heat. "Justice will win."

"_Justice_?" the peppery-haired human asked. There was an arch in his brow Leo hardly made out, but his bitter laughter rang clear through the cells. "What's justice?" the man continued as if amused. "There's no justice anymore—not in this world. God's let that go to waste."

"I don't…believe such." He wanted to sound sterner, yet couldn't manage it while Abigail's ghostly screams echoed in his ears.

"Such is your prerogative. I, meanwhile, will take things as they come. Until the end."

"Don't tell me you believe you have nothing to return to as well?"

"Those of us here have very little to return to."

"But you have _something_."

Joseph paused at Leo's pointed look through the night light before saying, "I wish I had something. I fought for them, but…I lost them."

"To what?"

"The so-called justice system." The man met Leonardo's gaze with a grim, tired expression. Behind it was a rage, whose heat could be felt at a distance. "I have a son, Terry, and a daughter, Jasmine. Both are under eight years old. And they're in foster care because I handed out a poor grade."

"You were a teacher?"

"At a local Middle School. I tried my best to do right by my students, and always looked forward to learning with them. One girl, though, just…never listened. She thought if I knew how hard she was struggling at home that I would let her get away with not studying. Of course, I couldn't. I referred her to a counselor. She never went. So when she failed the finals for the second time…she blamed me."

Leonardo kept quiet, not quite sure how the dots connected yet confident Joseph would do the work.

"She finally went to the counselor. Told her I had been molesting her. And gave her poor grades whenever she wouldn't cooperate."

"M—mo…mol…?" The word refused to leave Leo's lips and despite the fire in Joseph's narrowed eyes, the man looked ready to cry rather than scream.

"A, uh…investigation was launched. Despite a lack of DNA proof, the case passed the prelim hearing."

"How?"

"The system favors the kids, Leonardo. I know. It once saved me long ago."

'_Wait. Does that mean he…?_'

"I know the father was the one molesting her. I"—Joseph choked on his words—"I know what a case like that looked like…I tried helping her. And she thought it better to get at me—not _him_. And the judge _agreed_ with her, on the simple basis that I retained some sickness from my _own_ father. That's the _justice_ I was served!" Joseph rose from his cot with a huff, perhaps because a roaring inner fire wouldn't keep him still. "Afterwards, I could only see my babes through glass. And I lost all my money in legal fees."

"But there was no proof."

"Like that matters anymore! Life isn't fair: this is what we must accept."

"So you gave up?"

"No." Glare easing, Joseph retreated to his bed and paused with his hand in his hair as if reminded of something. "I filed for and was granted work release, so I could save for an appeal later. That's how I was nabbed. On my way back to…Well, I still got to keep my cell."

Leo blanched at the human's sardonic laugh. He wasn't knowledgeable of the New York state legal system because he never had to deal with it. Even so, what little bits Donatello revealed in the past led him to believe it was more upstanding, fair. At least the laws were. The people? They were always another story.

"If you survive this…you can still fight for your children," Leonardo noted. The words were forced from his heavy chest, but Joseph shook his head politely, in spite of their emotion.

"It's been years. They're with a new family now."

"You could still—"

"Tenacious, tenacious." The weary man waved a hand with a hollow laugh. "But it would've been nice to see their faces before…"

"Before what?"

Their eyes connected—a sure and painful action. It didn't need said. Joseph was absolutely sure of his fate. Like Abigail.

"_It's all fine…I deserve this."_

No. Leonardo felt his cheeks puff out with the threat of nausea racking his weak frame. He barely slapped a hand over his mouth when his stomach suddenly dropped, his senses filled with the remnants of rancid decay, sizzling skin, and delusional laughter. It mixed with an increasing heat, gunshots, flashes of night, and vacant eyes buried in blood.

"_Please, don't let them hurt my baby! Please, don't let them hurt my baby!"_

"No!" Leo cried in a wavering voice. He shook his head, desperate to cleanse his mind of memories. "You can't think like that, Joseph. You can't…You—I, no…How many times do I have to watch…watch…"

Hall F fell silent then. Joseph kept quiet in his thoughts while Leonardo twisted sideways, praying the nausea would soon pass. He couldn't force any more words out; he feared if he did, more memories would surface. So until he regained control, he remained still, stiff. By then, a soft hiss emanated. The door.

"Unlike _some_ in here, I can walk just fine, damn Gray!" Donald yelled.

Instinct drew Leonardo's eyes to Kaiya and Rupert. They stirred in the dim light, but were far too fatigued to open their eyes. With a small sigh of relief, Leo faced the brunette that staggered down the hall towards his cell. Strange; he was actually cooperating.

'_Lombardo must've been more severe this time,_' the mutant thought as Donald headed right for his bed.

The pale man fell onto the pitiful mat with no further protest, breathing heavily into the stationary pillow as if he had ran a marathon. Behind him the ever-impassive Melody closed then secured the cell door before approaching Joseph's cell, silent. The salt-and-pepper-haired man met her gaze through the mesh and smiled expectedly while running a hand over his wrapped, withered leg.

"Lombardo's ready for another try, isn't she?" he asked in mixed emotion.

Melody didn't answer.

"I take it she didn't want those two"—Joseph's eyes flickered towards Leo's row—"to see you take me. Hence the midnight deal."

The cyborg remained silent, yet the motive read clear. Pursing his lips, Joseph stood with the grim intensity of one ready for war when his cell unlocked. He looked like he could fight, too, though he relied heavily on the crutch provided by Melody. He followed the cool blonde with no qualms, no words of protest. When he passed Leonardo, he flashed a smile—though there wasn't an ounce of positive feeling in it.

"Wait," Leo cried to his passing form. "Don't—Joseph!"

"Accept it, Leonardo; we're all following Abigail."

"No! No!" His shaky hands banged against his cell door, uncontrolled like his heartbeat. "We can't accept imminent failure!"

'_I can't accept failure._'

"Fight, Joseph, _please_! _Don't_ be Abigail!"

Don't be Abigail. Those would no doubt be the last words Joseph heard from Leonardo. Somehow, they didn't feel strong enough. The door closed as Leo sunk to his knees. From the side, Donald laughed, except Splinter's words pushed his mocking tone from the mutant's thoughts.

"_You must accept that sometimes you cannot save everyone. You are only one person."_

Leo knew that. He knew, and yet…it didn't ease the souring of his stomach or the precise shard in his chest. They both hurt terribly.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Guess Mel's starting to realize she may be in deep crap. Leo...baby... *sniffles* Next chapter "Water and Fire", Splinter talks with Raphael about his unsavory behavior while Don and Mike meet a cyborg. Don't forget to leave reviews!


	20. Water and Fire

**Author's Notes:** Love ya, Big Six. *hugs* Luke, awesome closing statement LOL. You're right, Raven. Leo WILL need therapy. He will...Also, hurt isn't what can bring Mel around. ;D Feather...*pats shoulder* As cruel as it may seem, Dragon, I take that as a compliment. It means I'm doing my job. And the storm is still brewing. D'Fuentes, I'm not ashamed to admit I geeked over the Ducky reference. LBT is my childhood in a nutshell and my family _still_ quotes it. Thanks for the nostalgia. :) Now, Leo's traumatized not just by Abigail, but by incidents from Finding Balance as well. It's further build up. All of you may be surprised with the direction this DOES take. *cackles*  
Moving on. Enjoy!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 20 - ****Water and Fire**

For twelve nights Splinter had gone to sleep, believing his chest couldn't possibly feel any heavier. And for twelve mornings, he had awoken, finding he was wrong. The reality of it was like an anvil on his frail body, which kept him confined to his room more often than his aching bones did. He hated it, hated feeling weak and helpless.

But there was little he could do.

Even at home, where he could physically speak with his sons, threads were unraveling. The stitch the team had nearly mended within the last month was now split again. And the strongest of those strings was no longer present. It was heart-wrenching, watching them fray. The old master had done his best to bind them together with new strings, yet…

'_Only two of the three have accepted Nia-san's support. Ever since October, she has been seeking a part in the clan. While most see her deeds as small, that is far from truth. She is a supporter, an emotional rock—as strange as that would have sounded months ago. Raphael does not understand…a kind like that compliments a fighter. Like army men returning from war, they need someone at home to return to._'

Splinter sighed and pushed away the covers of his futon. There was a knock at his door—hesitant yet strong. The wizened rat faced it with no surprise.

"Come in, Raphael," he called through the door.

A pause followed before the shoji screen slid open, revealing an unmasked Raphael. "Hey," he called in a hoarse voice.

Splinter frowned at the dark bruise across his son's cheek when he closed the door and neared the futon. "Ohayō gozaimasu, Raphael."

"Ohayō," the Chūnin remarked lazily. He plopped onto a zabuton, his fingers fiddling with the tatami mats around it. "Don said ya wanted me?"

"Yes," Splinter answered, solemn, "and you know why."

"Sensei—"

"I am disappointed with you, my son."

The defense Raphael attempted died in instant. A faint trace of wounded shame crossed the mutant's amber eyes, yet it paled in comparison against the annoyance and fatigue.

"I understand your hurt," Splinter added as his son's features hardened through the light haze of incense and candles. "But that hurt is driving away everyone _important_. And your team is suffering for it."

"Team? What team?" The green-skinned mutant snorted—yet lightly, as if he were trying to stop it. "No one will talk wit' me."

"Is that surprising after what you did last night?"

Raphael flinched under his father's pointed look. "Did Mikey come in here?"

"No. Donatello did"

"He knows?"

Splinter gave a grim nod. "He overheard you. And the moment I woke from deep slumber, I knew our lack of power was _not_ from an outage."

"I…" The mutant hung his bare head. "I didn't think she was comin' over."

"That does _not_ excuse your words or your behavior," the master snapped. "You constantly bite into Donatello, argue with Michelangelo, and now…now you have no doubt slashed the heart of a woman who wants nothing more than to stand by you. Why?"

"Nia was an accident; it just"—his six fingers dug into the mats like sand—"slipped out."

"Like your comment about Christina-san?" Splinter repressed a sigh when his son cringed. Then he moved, crossing his tender legs over one another. "You spoke completely out of term. Christina Silliman is a name not to be repeated before Michelangelo, especially as a means to hurt."

"That just—"

"Slipped out as well? You can regret it, my son, but it was still said. I must say, since Leonardo's capture you have done nothing except harm others."

"I haven't tried ta hurt anyone!" With clenched hands, a fire brightening his eyes, Raphael part-way stood in anger. He caught himself once Splinter flashed a knowing look then fell back onto the zabuton, fists still clenched.

"You rarely mean it; however, it is time you took responsibility for your outbursts."

"Why am I bein' singled out? _Again_. Mikey 'n Don have—"

"_Enough_, Raphael!" Splinter's tail whipped against the floor with a strength he thought lost. "You cannot blame others for your shortcomings. Your brothers have done nothing but defend themselves against your abrasive nature."

"So I'm at fault. Like always."

"My son"—the aged master barely caught his pupil's stony gaze—"you are filled with so much rage right now that it blinds you. Rage over Leonardo. Rage over Donatello's secret. And perhaps confusion since Angel-san's return."

"She's got nothing ta do wit'—"

A slender paw rose. "Foremost, you should forgive your brother. Donatello kept his relationship with Gray-san from us, yes. And while it pains me I did not know of her, I find no error in Donatello's decision."

"Ya don't?" Incredulous and perplexed in his tone, Raphael's arms crossed.

Splinter met his glare with a calm gaze. "You four are my sons, my…treasures. And I will always worry for you. Your guidance under me has passed, however. I have taught you all I can and now it is up to you to choose your paths.

"Associations will be expanded; it is inevitable. I knew that when I first allowed you to surface. You are close with Casey-san. Donatello has April-san, Leatherhead-san. Michelangelo has taken to Reese-san and…Nia-san. You brothers work together as a team, but that does not mean you are one person. It is okay to have different associations; you are very different people."

"He still _lied_," the Chūnin muttered.

"And it was his right to keep something for himself."

"Ya actually believe that, Sensei?"

"It is what I want for each of you!" At the mutant rat's sharp voice, Raphael's glare faltered. "Donatello loves this woman. And he is fighting for her to a maddening point, even though he now knows her true state of mind. He has made a decision that Gray-san is worth it. To him, she was worth hiding, confiding in, and now worth fighting for. I want _each_ of you to find someone like that."

"He's got goo-goo eyes, so that's why ya ain't mad?"

"I am not mad; I am sad we did not meet her sooner."

"Yeah, what a great broad; she took Leo."

"_That_"—Splinter pointed sharp claw—"right there must stop."

"I can't be pissed about it?" countered Raphael with a snarl.

"I am grieved over the matter as well, my son, but speaking of Gray-san in such a matter can no longer be accepted."

"But she—"

"You do not _know_ her, Raphael! Donatello does. So if he is convinced he can reach her, give him a chance."

"And if she still wants ta turn him inta roof pizza?"

"Then you, with Michelangelo, ought to be there to help him."

"Yeah, right. They won't even face me; they don't want my help." There was a faint softness in Raphael's voice, a mark of hurt.

Splinter smiled lightly at it. "If you apologize, accept what you have done, and take care in what you say—then I am sure your brothers will forgive you. And if you go a step further, maybe Nia-san will also forgive you."

"Yeah, but…it's probably best Nia stays away for a while."

"_Raphael_."

Raphael flinched, his gaze averted. "I didn't mean ta hurt her. Really. But think about it. Whenever she tries ta help, she lands herself in hot water. All she had ta do was call."

"From what Michelangelo and Donatello have reported, I know her decision otherwise stemmed from the pressure you placed on her."

"Pressure 'a what?"

Splinter remained still, despite his son's curt snort. "Do not mistake me for a fool, Raphael. Angel-san's return has left you preoccupied. And I pity Nia-san for believing she needed to match her physical strength to maintain your attention."

"She didn't need ta—"

"Just because you see it that way doesn't mean she does. I know the _truth_—the one you deny yourself. Unlike Donatello, _you_ doubt your choice."

Yes, he did. The hothead's broad shoulders hunched as he slouched on the zabuton, a stern frown on his dark face. He kept quiet and his gaze flicked towards his father a second—both were signs of cooperation.

"Listen," continued Splinter in a soft yet didactic tone. "Those who value power are attracted to power. You and Angel-san were attracted to one other in this way. But power, if left unchecked, is like fire: consuming. In the past, you both sought to overpower the other—it is your natures—and because you did, your relationship suffered. Her break up with you two years ago was brutal, you remember."

"Yeah, but"—the mutant placed his fingers back on the tatami mat—"I—I don't know. I can't help thinkin'…maybe anoddah time could be different."

"The past is bound to repeat itself, my son. As friendly rivals, you are beneficial to one another; you serve as inspiration to surpass stepping stones in your physical limitations, much like a light challenge. As partners, however, you are unbefitting. The power struggle for control in the relationship creates too much enmity between you, too much fire. You have felt how hot that fire burns."

"So yer sayin' I need someone weak ta overpower then?" Raphael asked with a scoff.

"No," Splinter replied sharply. His tail whipped behind him, making a notable 'thwack' against the hard floor. "You need a partner with strength of another kind. You may not find it as alluring as Angel-san's strength, but ultimately, it will bring you peace at home. You need water, Raphael—just a little to keep your fire from growing too violent."

"An' ya think Nia's that water."

Splinter didn't reply for a long moment; he sat stiff with a carefully controlled expression, observing the play of lights across his son's large bruise. "Only you can say, my son," he answered lowly. "But you must make your choice. Soon. Because your indecisiveness is harming not just Nia, but Michelangelo as well…"

* * *

Donatello ran a tender thumb over the drained power cell in his hands. Its smooth surface felt cool, frigid like the snow around him, yet it chilled him more on the inside than the outside. This key was meant to complete his containment unit. But it was dead. Of course, he would never blame Nia for its condition (though she apparently drained it). That didn't make its appearance any less of a tease. Here he stood, so close to a means of speaking with Melody, yet he still required another step.

"You know, Leo wouldn't be too thrilled if he found you out here during the day."

Donny smiled at Michelangelo's soft voice. "Oh, yeah…I'd be lectured."

"Is that the power cell Nia…?" Mikey trailed off as he stood beside his brother on a vacant building that overlooked their garage. A notable pain struck his blue eyes before he rolled them. Raph probably entered his mind.

"It is," Don answered with a strained smile. "Nia texted me the location. I was going to wait until tonight for the three of us to gather. But after last night…I needed to get out."

"You weren't the only one," Mikey snapped, scowling at the morning sun from behind his scarf. "Of all the stupid things he's ever said…"

"That was the stupidest."

"…Is stupidest a real word? Isn't it 'most stupid'?"

"Stupidest is right."

"Weird…"

The two fell into silence.

"Is it wrong to push our brother off a cliff?" Mikey asked.

Don couldn't pinpoint seriousness or playfulness in the youngest's tone. "Morally speaking, it's wrong to push anyone off a cliff."

"What if it was just high enough to be real painful?"

"Still morally wrong."

"How about a pit?"

"Wrong."

"I see." Another pause. "Would you do it anyway?"

"_Mikey_." The purple-banded mutant chuckled morbidly at the thought then faced his little brother.

An unexpected gaze met his—one unlike Michelangelo. It was bitter, contemptuous, and, frankly, seemed serious in what they were supposedly joking about. He flashed a smile, though, as if it were the only thing keeping anger at bay.

"I wanted to do more than punch him last night," muttered the orange-banded Chūnin through clenched teeth. "Especially when he mentioned…I—I want to…I wanted him to feel what I feel in my chest right now. He's my brother, and I wanted—" Mikey cut himself off with a brief laugh then faced the red sun again. His smile was still unnatural as he pressed his arms against his covered plastron.

"Have you spoken with Nia yet?" Don questioned, soft.

His brother shook his head. "I want to, but…it wouldn't be fair for her."

"Because you want to play the role of hero?"

Mikey gave a miserable nod.

"Then give her time. Ultimately, it's up to her and Raph."

"If Raph had it his way, he'd go running back to _Angel_."

"That's never gone well."

"Never stopped him before."

Don frowned and held the power cell close. "He'll realize who's better for him. Can't say when. Or if it'll be too late. But he'll realize."

"If she doesn't want to be part of our family anymore…that's all on him. And I'll hate him for it."

Hate was a strong word. Donatello knew his brother meant it, though. At least for the moment. Understandable. Raphael had been pushing the wrong buttons with everyone recently—even Angel—and they were all at the pinnacle of their breaking point. If the hothead didn't adjust his attitude soon…well, there's no saying what could happen.

"Uh, hey"—a blunt force met Don's arm at Michelangelo's lightened tone—"is that what I think it is?"

Following the thick finger his brother pointed with, Donny glanced at a vapor trail in the sky. '_Strange,_' he thought. '_It's too low for any commercial air-liner and not to mention too thin, even for a private charter…Oh!_'

"Let me borrow this for a sec!"

"Wait!"

Donatello wasn't fast enough, not against Michelangelo. The weight in his arms lifted in an instant, and the genius stumbled after his younger brother when he carried the power cell to the building's corner. In one leap, Mikey settled onto higher ground on another building and posed with his hand drawn back. Then, he shot the power cell towards the sky with the force of a home-made rocket. It sailed, high. Unlike how low Don's gut felt.

"Relax, Donny; I've got great accuracy," Mikey said from the side.

The purple-banded mutant couldn't take his eyes off the cell. It met its mark many yards above; a soft 'pop' erupted as it hit the angular wing of a flying cyborg. The lanky figure swerved instantly in the morning haze and flailed as the hit wing contracted, sending it tumbling towards the city.

Michelangelo landed beside Donatello then flashed a smile. "Told you I've got game."

"The—the—the power…cell."

"Ah, we'll find it again. Now come on; she should land in that construction site no one's touched in months."

There wasn't much room for debate, honestly. Donatello croaked words of protest, but they were spoken at his brother's receding figure. With a low groan over the loss of his power cell and the general situation, the genius tailed his sibling until they stalked across a tall building opposing the construction site. Below them, many people commuted to work. Thankfully, none of them were contractors.

"See?" Mikey pointed at a city block filled with cement trucks, stray materials, and a partially-finished car garage. "They still have the tarps draped over the port's sides. And we can sneak into it through the rafters of that covered bridge."

"Mikey, it's—"

"I _know_, alright? But he took Leo too. Maybe he'll be more willing to talk than…Melody."

Donny grimaced at the pang through his chest, yet nodded in the knowledge that it was a perfect opportunity. For Leo's sake. Mirroring the action, Mikey turned first then headed for the temporary bridge that connected their building with the incomplete car garage across the street. They kept high in the metal roof's crest and while not a soul crossed it, the genius' heart beat wildly with paranoia. At the end of what felt like a long journey, they exited on a vast level of flat concrete.

"Well, that's abnormal," noted Mikey as he directed towards a jagged hole in the ceiling. Harsh daybreak drifted through it, illuminating rubble around a black-skinned female, who cursed and beat against a silver pod on her back like a kid throwing a tantrum. "What do you know; he's a she…Uh, excuse me, Miss"—the youngest's tone dropped dangerously—"do you have a minute?"

"Ugh, can't a girl do a taco run in _peace_?" the cyborg asked, twisting around.

Don had prepared for an intense stand-off, but…the Nubian woman faced him with simple annoyance—as if he were a bothersome younger brother that kept stealing her diary. She blew air childishly then crossed her long, thin arms, mis-matched eyes set on Mikey.

"Did you throw that thing at me?" she questioned with attitude.

Don side-glanced the orange-banded Chūnin as he uneasily answered, "Maybe…?"

"Well, it damn-well hurt!"

"Wha?" Mikey reeled back a step.

And Don blinked slowly.

"So"—the cyborg snorted—"what do you two want?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Not who you thought it would be, huh? ;) Next, "Fractured", Mike and Don speak with Tabitha and we get back to Hall F via Melody. REVIEWS PPL!

_Ohayō gozaimasu = Oh-hi-yo Go-z-ei-mah-s = Good Morning_


	21. Fractured

**Author's Notes:** Big Six, i'm glad you enjoyed the humor. Things were getting really heavy, so we needed some light. LOL. More of Raph's reasoning will be revealed...that's all I'll say. Mikey IS the best, Raven, and I can't wait to get to _A Tale of Heroes_. Sounds good, Sciencegal. Now *hands everyone tacos* enjoy!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 21 - ****Fractured**

Michelangelo stared in disbelief at the lanky cyborg, his poised fists lowering. "W—what? Why aren't you all…you know?"

"No, I don't, actually," the Nubian female countered. The dark skin around her robotic eye scrunched as she made a face beneath the carport's unplanned sunroof. "I was just flying, minding my own business with the promise of tacos until _you_ glitched my wing!"

"Tacos?" Donatello parroted—an unsure eye set on the long, bony finger she pointed at Mikey.

"Yeah. Tacos. It's become easy pickings since I've gotten these wings; the stands are just a hair's breath away from the ground. How am I supposed to get breakfast now?"

Was she serious? The way she folded her arms and stood resembled someone who just been informed of a restaurant waitlist—not the top-notch fighter who had kept the Hamato brothers on the ropes.

"What are you; some human version of a falcon?" Mikey questioned. His voice squeaked with surprise, yet he took a step forward, clearing his throat.

"I think it's quite clear what I am," she countered, darker.

"I don't understand," remarked Don. "Why aren't you…fighting us?"

The round-featured cyborg flashed a look, like the brothers had grown several heads. "Why would I fight you? I'm off the clock. Though you did spoil my breakfast, so I may punch you. Fair warning; I'm hungry."

"Yeah, but—" Something cut Don off, probably his disbelief.

"You know who we are, right?" Mikey followed up.

"Yes. Your point?"

A deep growl roused in Michelangelo's throat when he cried, "The point is you _took_ our brother!"

"Sorry; it's simple business on my part," the Nubian said with a shrug.

The youngest Hamato barely fought an urge to bum-rush her. He felt a tremble in his limbs and stepped forward; but Don placed a hand on his puff jacket and took his place as the head.

"What do you mean by that?" the genius questioned, obsequious. Great, Detective Donatello was on the case.

"You think we snatch people for shits and giggles?" she countered while taking a seat in the rubble. "We got a boss, so we do as he says. End of story."

"Your boss instructs you to kidnap people? Why?"

The Nubian twisted to place her long fingers against the contracted wing by her shoulder blade. "Just unimportant people," she noted bitterly. That brought a scowl to Michelangelo's face.

"Our brother is important to _us_," replied Don. He used more control than Mikey thought possible and rounded the seated cyborg until two yards from her side. "People will always have someone," he added, softer.

"Not exactly," the cyborg retorted while side-glancing.

"Senator Brooks' daughter has many waiting for her."

"She was an accident; I thought she was homeless."

"I see…so she's connected with this, after all."

The cyborg froze, large lips parted, at Donatello's nod.

"Did you happen to take a homeless woman who talks in third person as well? Calls herself Star."

"I'm _not_ giving you a list!" Rocketing into a standing position, the tall female backed away in defense.

Still, Don approached her with slow, careful steps. "She has someone waiting for her, a man named Phil."

"Then Phil will be disappointed; Hall I is worse off than even Hall F."

"There are…_halls_ of these people?"

The thought left an unsettling chill through Michelangelo's bones—worse than any cold storm. In his throat, oxygen hitched, though he forced it through with anger. When his fists clenched at his sides, he glared over his scarf, grinding his teeth as Donatello somehow maintained composure.

"Look"—stared the cyborg while fiddling with her wing again—"my free time is extremely limited. And my breakfast runs aren't exactly green-lighted. If I don't get back soon, the boss won't be happy. And if there's one thing you don't want, it's an unhappy _master_."

"But you aren't under any form of control," Donny added with a raised tone. "You don't have to do this!"

"I know," the young woman replied, forthright and grim.

"Then why would you…?"

She shrugged—a light action. "Why not? My parents never acted like I existed. The streets don't treat anyone fairly. I was just…surviving. At least this way I'm contributing to something and don't have to sleep under a bridge…or watch the adults eye me like I'm a tumor on this planet."

"Tabitha," Donatello whispered, as if struck by a realization.

The cyborg's long body tensed and she beat the side of her wing in panic.

"Tabitha Fall." The genius halted to send her a soft smile.

"Wh—what are you smiling at, idiot?" she questioned fiercely.

"You say your parents didn't notice you? Well, they did. You have a missing persons report on you, filed by Lynsey and Paris."

Tabitha snorted. "Probably because the neighbors asked where I was. They're much too busy with their work at Christian's University to notice on their own."

"Wasn't Christian's University a hit for the Little Reds?"

"'Little Reds'? Oh, you mean us. Yeah. And I can't say it wasn't fulfilling to steal from my parents' _first born_." The Nubian cyborg flashed a bitter smile, a flare brightening her robotic eye.

The purple-banded Chūnin met the glint easily, saying with evident confidence, "That means you still care for them. You care what they think. You want them to hurt over you. And they do, Tabitha. Mister Baker from the East Harlem Hotel has met them several times since they found out you frequented there. They're still searching for you."

"They don't care about me! _No one_ cares about us—that's why we are where we are!"

"Yes, they do! Your friend, Sven Nass? His little brother Jakob has been practically living at the hotel in hopes of seeing him again!"

"Only because their father's a drunken ass, who will pick a fist fight with his sons over the stupidest of things!"

Heh. 'Stupidest' again. Mikey still thought it sounded weird as Tabitha's back met a cement pillar. The harsh force caused her to grunt in surprise or frustration. Behind her a swift rush of air accompanied the release of her second wing and she immediately studied its slender plates.

"Tabitha, please." For the first time, Don's voice wavered like his limbs. "People make mistakes. I know that. They fracture people, change them. When we've lost something we took for granted, we fight to get it back."

"Something tells me you aren't speaking about my parents."

"They must regret how they treated you. You should at least give them a chance before you succumb to—_this_."

Tabitha shook her heard adamantly at Don's gesturing hands. "It's not worth it. This way, I don't have people constantly judging me. I'm not cold. I'm not disappointed. I'm not…lonely. I have to keep collected in front of the others, but that's manageable."

"So you would rather rip others from their loved ones than return to your own?" Mikey cried, caustic in his rising of arms.

"They don't love me," insisted Tabitha through quivering lips. It was like a reminder she didn't want to admit, and it darkened her gaze. "They didn't want me before, and they sure as hell wouldn't want me now. Like…_this_. I'm better off where I am. The boss is right; I have no other place in society."

"That isn't true!" called Don with an outstretched hand.

The cyborg glared at him, yet remained silent. Their brief eye contact broke when a rumbling echoed through the vacant carport—soft like the passing of a car. Collected sparks of orange and white propelled Tabitha from the concrete and her rotating wings helped stabilize her slender form in the bitter cold. Mikey found the sight awesome, even if she was the enemy.

"So you'll continue kidnapping?" Donatello cried over the hum of her rocket boots.

"We'll do what the boss says," she answered in a dead tone.

"And my brother? What will your boss do to him?"

"He's another department."

"Another…What do you mean?"

"Sorry; I've already stayed too long."

"Wait!"

Donny lunged for the cyborg's metallic boot, but she displayed surprising agility for one with double-plated wings and rockets for feet. She spun with the grace of a ballet dancer—avoiding the genius' touch—and soared passed Michelangelo before his hands even reached his nunchakus. He whirled in her wake of disturbed air, only to find a thin vapor trail leading outside the car garage.

"Just perfect," the youngest grumbled, glaring into the orange sky.

Don joined him with a sigh. "At least it sounds like he's still alive."

"I guess…Hey! What are you doing?"

The genius pulled his brother closer by the collar of his puff jacket, saying, "_You're_ going to help me find that power cell."

"Oh." Mikey flashed a weak smile. "Right."

* * *

Melody maintained calm breaths, regardless of how shaken her body felt in its seat at Hall F's monitoring station. Nerves, she realized. It was strange since they were supposedly not as sensitive as they were before her conversion. That didn't seem to matter at the moment.

'_Doctor Stephens has always seemed eccentric, but recently…_'

Eccentric didn't begin to cover him. The glints in his dark eyes were radically different than the ones Melody saw in Lombardo or felt in herself when working on projects. Now, live subjects didn't bother her—so long as they were used with reason. Lombardo adhered to this unsaid rule. Stephens?

He reveled in using them like it was a power trip.

Maybe it was. It wouldn't be surprising, given the nature of Black Lotus' inner workings. All of them were fractured in one way or another, staff and subjects. Melody simply felt her 'Master' was fractured more than others—to an uncomfortable degree.

'_I barely left his office undetected before Lombardo found me in the hall. If he had caught me looking, discovering…that._'

The nerves shook with a new emotion—anger. Every doctor she'd met since awakening a changed woman had ensured the good intentions of the company. And she believed them. It's not as if she had anything else to strive for. Why not join their cause? Yet it seemed Stephens had his own agenda…

"_Always the busybody, wanting to know my inner workings. Guess I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."_

'_I can almost see what he meant by that. Still…how is he getting more bodies if not from Squad Five?_'

"M—Mister Leonardo?"

Melody raised her head at Kaiya's timid voice. Her cool vision peered through the still-fractured glass, towards the young girl's cell set far below the monitoring station. The cyborg activated the zoom on her robotic eye for a better view, having already turned all the feed volumes up when she entered the long room.

"Mister Leonardo," Kaiya called again while sticking her little fingers as far through the mesh wall as possible. Her body shook and she grunted in aggravation, pressing closer against the barrier as if she could hit the mutant's arm if she did. "Mister Leonardo, c—can we sing that song? Please?"

"Song, song!" Rupert chimed in with an uncoordinated clap of his hands. "Rupert want Leo song!"

But Leonardo didn't stir at their voices. Despite his wakened state, he sat unmoving at the back of his cell—much like he had done after Abigail's death. She noticed the myoclonic twitches had died since then, but some still lingered in his arms. One had to wonder if that was now permanent damage.

"Mister Leonardo…where is Mister Joseph? Was he…taken?"

"Taken and served, kid," Donald added from the row obscured from Melody's view.

The little blonde whirled his way, wide-eyed. "S—served to what?"

"A le Chef Lombardo."

Melody scowled at the subject's degrading use of tone; Kaiya was just a child. Not that it mattered.

"Sh—she ate him?"

Donald laughed cruelly in response to the blonde's croak, which earned him a rude name from Cell F-5. "What, Little Miss Pampered?" he questioned, just as cruel. "That was funny."

"No, it wasn't," the feminine voice retorted. Melody knew the regal-like quality matched the elegance of its owners strawberry-blonde bob cut and defined pale features.

"I don't need a lecture from a _senator's_ kid."

"Why do you have to treat everyone like they're below you?"

"Because people like your father taught me to."

There was a growl from Cell F-5, as well as a harsh clap. Donald snorted loudly at them, but a male voice spoke before Paige Brooks.

"You can choose to ignore what you're taught." Cell F-4's occupant spoke with a strange mix—like a street kid from the Bronx that had adopted a Chieftain accent. Or, maybe it had been the other way around, given the Native American features of Quill Greeves.

"I could," Donald remarked. "But then I wouldn't have near as much fun."

"You call mentally abusing people fun?" countered Paige heatedly. A rustle sounded. Maybe she was standing.

"Why not? It's not like your world's any different. Politicians are mental abusers…Not that senators are much use to begin with."

"Take that back!"

"Why? It's true."

"You don't know anything about my father or his goals!"

"Don't need to; they're all the same. Self-serving."

"Not all of them."

"Sure."

"Paige, you should relax before anyone is called," Quill suggested calmly.

A sigh later, more rustling sounded then settled.

"Called?" Cell F-3 filled with a scoff. "Please. You have to do something real bad for that. Hell, the first guy who took Abigail's spot killed himself in the night and wasn't caught. Who knew you could die with such a contorted expression just by—"

"Donald, _stop it_; you're making Kaiya cry!"

Paige's resonating bellow brought Melody's eye to the little blonde who wrapped her skinny arms tight around her drawn up knees. Like Leo, she stared forward, but without any recognition as her frame shook violently. She swallowed a hard lump then placed her hands over her ears and squinted, whimpering for her parents.

"_No, I can save her! It's what I've been studying for! Please, let me save my mom!"_

Melody jerked her head up, startled from a sudden voice in her mind. The heat in the room grew when she placed a robotic hand against the flesh of her left bicep, remembering the strong grip that once held her at bay. There was a sting in her organic eye as a smiling face flashed through her memory, but she forced it away by concentrating on Leonardo's stirring figure.

"Girl's gunna have to toughen up anyway," said Donald.

"Just because you had a bad childhood doesn't mean you need to take it out on anyone else," Paige retorted in an undertone.

"Says the girl without a bad childhood."

"You don't know that."

"Whatever; I can tell when others' had a bad childhood. You didn't."

It must've been true because Paige remained silent.

"See? You didn't get to grow up with a prostitute mother and her pimp. And you sure as hell wouldn't know what it was like fighting for her attention when your _perfect_ older brother always over-shadowed you."

"A prostitute?"

"That's a side-note. I didn't care how many guys mom entertained; it was Kpop that acted like my dad."

"And Kpop is?"

"The pimp."

"I see."

"He helped me and Mitchell make connections. We were never part of an affiliation, though. Not until Juvi. That's where I met the Forty-Four Street Crew."

"What a winner."

"Hey!" Donald paused (maybe to face Paige) and his voice rose in contempt. "It was a life, alright? The only thing I hated about it was Mitchell. Mom's favorite son from a real marriage"—he said this with acidic loathing, probably rolling his eyes—"God, I hate him. It's always 'Mitchell this' and 'Mitchell that'. Mitchell, Mitchell, Mitchell."

"You never tried to work with him?" Leonardo questioned. His soft voice almost dissipated within the group, but it earned all their attention from what Melody could gather.

"He liked being the high and mighty one," countered Donald. "Always looked down on me."

"Like you do to others?" Paige added.

"You kids are all so petty," a new voice interjected from afar. Gruff and sardonic in its tone, it wasn't one Melody recognized. And its owner couldn't be spotted.

"Oh, goodie; news from the peanut gallery!" Donald shouted while clapping his hands.

"You're such a stupid kid, Donald," the voice continued.

"And it's good to know you're still alive, Chandler. I gotta say, the ends get so quiet nowadays, it's hard to tell who's still here."

"You've wasted your youth with superficial jealously."

"You're lucky I ain't over there, old man."

"Foolish. All of you. It's a shame you're going to die without realizing…anything."

"Now I remember why I didn't question if you were alive. I don't give a damn."

"You don't care about much, except yourself." Chandler sighed—a haggard action. "It's not how you should live. I learned that all too late…"

"Thanks for the pep talk, Gramps. Now, if you'll excuse me—I think I'd rather pick off rotting flesh from my arm instead of listen to you."

"The young ones…never want to listen."

"None of you can agree on anything, can you?" Leonardo spoke again, but his astonished voice was quieter and it went unanswered as the remaining subjects fell into another argument.

Melody watched his bare head hang, his three-fingered hand gripping his twitching arm as if it would flap around otherwise. Over the monitor, he said something that died under the chatter of Rupert. The special man rocked in his cell like Kaiya, resorting to the song Leonardo had taught days ago. Together, the voices of Hall F melded into maddening garble until…

"Hey, Melody."

The blonde tore herself from the dizzying emotions surging through her. She stood in an instant, reset her robotic eye, and then turned towards Tabitha. The Nubian cyborg kept an even expression—like normal—but behind her usually apathetic gaze, uncertainty had been uprooted.

"What are you doing here?" Melody questioned, careful.

"I…uh…I want to talk."

"Good." The blonde glanced back at Hall F then Tabitha. "I must speak with you as well."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Tabi's a completely different person off the clock! And what's this? Conspiring, maybe? "Pokerface" is next where Don reveals how he and Mel met as well a surprise visit. Then, some Amanda. Also, yes, Donald's a huge ass.


	22. Pokerface

**Author's** **Notes:** Reviews feed my muse. Thanks, guys! Donald hasn't done his worst deed yet. That's all I'll say. Onto the story!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 22 - ****Pokerface**

Winter never treated turtles well—even ones of the mutant variety. Regardless, Donatello faced the frigid temperatures and falling snow's bite for one purpose: to clear his head.

The Lair was filled with too much stress. Between Raphael and Michelangelo's fight, Splinter's subtle prodding, thoughts of Leonardo, plus his own half-baked plans, he felt as if he would go crazy if he sat in the Lab any longer. Besides, a majority of the Lair's power was back online after three days of grueling work; he could afford a breather.

They all needed one…

Don released a thick, layered vapor cloud from above the scarf wrapped like a Dickie around his neck. He watched it play in the hazy air, his eyes tracing its semi-transparent contours amidst the Christmas lights decorating Upper West Side. It faded all too soon, leaving him staring at grim reminders of what should be a joyous time for his clan. With another sigh, the purple-banded Chūnin tore his attention from them towards the moonless sky.

'_It was a time like this_,' he thought. '_Five years ago…that Mel discovered my secret…_'

_Christmas time. What an exciting and yet strenuous point of the year. Donatello never minded it—until now._

_Everything started with his accepted job application to an online IT company last month. He became the first and only of his siblings with an income, and boy, they had not forgotten. From paycheck to paycheck (so far, only two), Michelangelo's been there to suggest expenditures. Even Leonardo and Raphael put in their two cents (some more discretely than others)._

_He didn't want or need suggestions. The payments were meant for extra food and desperate upgrades around the Lair. But the thought of allotting it solely towards necessities seemed…drab. His brothers did have a point: it could be used for something else._

_So, without telling them, he'd taken on overtime. The next check he received should be double his usual payment, and he already planned on divvying it out for Christmas allowance amongst his clan. That way, their presents wouldn't have to be repurposed._

'Not that there's anything wrong with home-made gifts_,' Don thought while rummaging through the junkyard. '_I'll still make a few, but…I know there's one or two Nintendo games Mikey's been dying for_. _Even if I must deal with irate people for hours a day…I hope I'm not doing that for long._'_

"_We know you have it, Gray, so hand it over."_

_My, what an unsavory voice. Donatello readied his bō staff and crouched towards the tall trash heap by instinct. Swift yet silent, he mounted its crest, peering at a small clearing beyond it, near the chain link perimeter. Four grown men—Purple Dragons—cornered someone that, apparently, had been collecting their own materials._

_He stood listless beside a partly filled wooden crate in the deep snow. Don's angle kept the face from view, but the distinctive auburn dreadlocks and patchwork over his ragged sweater had the mutant squinting with intrigue. He seemed familiar._

"_Why stir trouble up when you know how it'll end, Fang?" he questioned casually—like the group was nothing more than a gang of school boys. The tone's lowness almost led Don to believe it was a young boy, but after the figure's chest puffed out with defiance, he knew otherwise._

'_Wait. She's the girl I spoke with last week, the one at the Professor's talk…Melody Gray.'_

"_Klonopin, Gray," the same PD—Fang—demanded with an outstretched hand. He smiled disgustingly with dark teeth and signaled his cronies to move. "You see? I've been all nerves recently. Or do we have to shake down the buyers instead?" His next step forward roused the young woman for the first time._

_She scoffed, flipping a long dreadlock over her shoulder before widening her stance. "Touch my turf, and I swear I'll gouge your eyes out this time."_

"_Don't make this harder on yourself, doll."_

"_Why don't you get your cheap fixes elsewhere, _love_?"_

'He's talking to her a lot…It's got to be a—_' Donatello steeled at a flash of silver below the industrial lamppost above them._

"_Look out!" he cried before realizing it._

_He descended over the heap's snowy side in seconds and used the shock of his appearance to whack a posed hand gun from one PD's hand. The remaining two pulled out their own guns, which he disarmed as well—with consecutive swings that echoed through the junkyard. Around and around, he twisted the staff, ensuring each turn made contact with the three gang members in one way or another. He heard a sharp click behind him as the last man fell and turned towards it._

"_Wh—what are you doing?" Donatello questioned, frozen._

_Melody stood with no tenseness yet with every bit of determination, a cocked gun pointed at Fang's shocked face. Her finger squeezed the trigger dangerously as she regarded him with lifeless eyes and when he lightly whimpered on the ground from where she put him, a sneer graced her tanned features._

"_Always so big until you realize your place again," she said cynically._

"_Come on now, Miss Gray," Donatello said behind her. He slipped his bō staff back into the holster sewn onto his jacket's back and held his hands up, thankful for gloves. "We don't want any accidents."_

"_Oh, shooting him would be no accident," remarked the woman, forthright. As if to further her point, her bare finger squeezed a little tighter._

"_What will shooting him prove?" Don added while rounding her figure with careful steps in the snow._

"_Nothing; it's just going to stop him from coming around."_

"_Then he's already been warned."_

"_Not enough, apparently. There are ways to paralyze with a bullet without killing. I wonder if he wants to test how."_

"_Stooping to their level won't bring you peace."_

_Melody's finger hesitated, her un-groomed brows furrowed as she begrudgingly faced the disguised mutant. "Are you _new_ to the streets?"_

_The slight distraction was all Fang required. Donatello spotted the clear glint in the gangster's eye just before his long arm lunged for Melody. The Chūnin did likewise. Wrapping a thick hand around the gun's hilt, he kept the barrel from the redhead's shoulder, but it went off in her surprise. He felt a sting across his forehead, a sudden burst of cold air that accompanied the boom. Yet he pushed the sensations aside to elbow the man in the jugular._

_Fang met the snow violently, coughing. His head shook as Don relinquished Melody of the gun completely and his three wide-eyed associates flanked him once he stood. Don's stinging brow knit at their paled faces. When they scrambled sideways, pushing one another out of the way, they spoke in gibberish. It wasn't until he wiped a warm trail of blood from his head that he realized…his hood had been pushed back by the bullet._

'_Oh, no.'_

_He turned slowly. Very, slowly. With dread. Melody stood as rigid as an iceberg in the shin-high snow, shoulders hunched. Her full lips hung agape with a silent word and her eyes opened so wide, Don noticed the flecks of gray in her light blue irises when he neared her._

"_Alight, I know what this looks like," he started in all calmness possible._

_But her head tilted up, her mouth expanding through the strangled sounds her throat made. Then, she paused completely to draw in a long, deep breath._

"_Now, wait!"_

_Too late. Her scream came much higher than her normal voice. Her brows rose with it as she back-stepped towards the trash heap and her body folded in half along the way, as if to expand the piecing scream by squeezing her lungs. She ran out of air, but regained it all too soon._

"_Fuck!" she cried shrilly with her arms held close a moment._

"_Miss Gray—"_

"_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Some curses were drawled out; others she didn't finished at all. Her chest heaved unsteadily, but even when her flailing arms landed her in the trash, she didn't stop squirming. "What are—you—you're _green_!"_

"_Yes, I am."_

"_And you're the guy from the—fuck!"_

"_Gray, please!"_

"_Fuck! Fuck! Fucky! Fuck! Fuck!"_

"_Listen"—Don's voice grew strained with sadness—"you don't have to be scared of me."_

"_Get away from me!" The redhead tripped over the open door of an old stove and bypassed the crate she had been gathering things in. She rounded the mutant until she stood at the mouth of the clearing, a harsh finger pointed at his face. "Just…stay…" _

_And with one last curse, the woman turned and ran._

The memory caused Donatello to chuckle. He could do so now that he knew he hadn't scarred her for life. After their second meeting, Don didn't see Melody for a long time. Months passed until he stumbled on her in the junkyard again, and even then, he only slipped her a useful thing here and there—to make up for the scare.

'_She found those disturbing…but never pushed them aside._'

Why? He wondered for years. Now he knew, though.

She was building an arsenal. Not of weaponry, but of medicine. Or trying to, at least. Don's initial deduction of her drug dealing proved half true. She did so only for those that really needed it and were denied healthcare or were too frightened to apply. Everything she salvaged in the dump or stole from other sources always contributed to that goal.

Of course, she kept it under wraps, due to gangs. She had a better heart than them, yet was calloused enough that she could play the gangster role without actually being one. The coldness she displayed with Fang at gunpoint was part of that role. It needed played so the homeless—her patients—wouldn't be targeted. Don didn't know it until two years after, but her pokerface was a sign of hope to the downtrodden…

'_And now she doesn't seem to care about them at all._' Donatello frowned, stuffing his clenched hands into the deep pockets of his parka. '_That couldn't be just because of me…right?_'

Creak. Clank. Crunch.

Don's hand gripped his bō staff and posed it as he spun on the snowy concrete.

"You always could whip that thing out before a gun was cocked."

There, standing beside a steel water tower on the two tiered roof, was Melody. She calmly regarded Don's stance on the roof's lower tier—with the pokerface she showed her enemies. Don's heart quickened as her black-clad figure walked the ledge above him, but he kept the anxiety from showing by reminding himself: this must be another role.

"So…are you on or off the clock?" he asked smoothly.

Her gaze remained fixed on the glowing cityscape. "We're never off the clock; this is our new life."

"Your new life is forsaking everything you upheld in your _last_?" The words were spat in instinct and it earned him a heated glare that threatened his control.

"_Who_ forsook _who_ now?" the cyborg inquired before springing from the ledge. She landed askew from Don's side with minimal slips against the melted water then encroached like a stalking lioness.

The Chūnin met her red eye and barely stood his ground. "Mel"—the eye brightened when his arms raised in defense—"Listen. Can we just talk? You've already fought with me a few times. It got us…nowhere. You've fought for a long time; I know…you don't want to keep doing it."

"What do you know of me anymore?" Melody snapped in a dead whisper.

He smiled into his scarf, though, when her gaze returned to the city. "I bet if I had brought spicy jerky, you wouldn't deny it."

She twitched then scowled. "I hardly require food anymore."

In other words, she would take it, even if she didn't need it.

"That doesn't seem to stop your friend Tabitha. With tacos."

"I have spoken with her about those trips. She must be more careful; sneaking out is—_what_?"

In spite of everything, the mutant couldn't fight a growing grin. He almost laughed, too, but the cyborg's slight rise of temper kept him contained.

"All this time," he said, soft, "I thought…you weren't yourself. But you are. You're trying not to, but you still care."

"And your face still pisses me off!" Melody cried suddenly. Her stiff body moved with a familiar fire as she crossed her arms and jutted out one hip—a stance Donatello knew well.

"You _are_ in there, Mel."

"Stop saying that!"

Slowly, Don's arms fell under the blonde's snarl. "You're still yourself," he repeated—this time with a slight hitch. "And you _took_ my brother?"

"What does it matter?" she countered in the same stance. "A brother, a sister, a bum, a politician—they'll all have the same end. But along the way they'll stab and push and pull for the sake of their heart's happiness. Simple happiness isn't what will heal this world. Sacrifices are needed."

"Sacrifice without willingness behind it is slaughter!" Donny retorted through clenched teeth. He tried hard to keep the thought of Leonardo lined-up with other victims out of his mind, and shook his head when he failed.

"The people who took me, made me into"—she paused to glance at her metallic hands—"did so without my consent. But they have a point. Rising above selfishness is what will better this society."

The mutant's eyes narrowed, though his anger was fading into hurt at the soft, listless words. "Is that what you're doing? You were always selfless before, and never once turned your back on the ones trampled by higher society. What's changed?"

She remained quiet, dead gaze set on the hazy horizon. Snow danced across her soft-lit face, yet she never flinched at the cold flecks that beat against her chapped skin. There were new scars, Don noted—running along her strong jawbone, from beneath her metal plates, and part way down her neck (from what her turtleneck revealed). They were worse than any scar he'd seen on her before. And she had once shown him quite a few—inside and out.

"Mel, what are you here to tell me?" Donatello questioned while he gripped his bō staff tighter. "No matter what, you can never be…meaningless. You're here, to see me, for a reason."

"The damn mechanic and his constant reason…" Without a sigh or waver in her low tone, Melody faced the mutant. "I do not know why I am here…Not caring, for once, made life so much easier. And, frankly, the sight of your face rouses a pain in me I often cannot control. That is why I fight you. And why I did not question Leonardo's capture."

Here, Don twitched, his teeth gritting. He sensed indecisiveness, though, below the surface of metal and flesh. The cyborg said her words with no emotion, but that was on purpose. It had to be. Otherwise, her control would've broken by now.

'_Does this mean…she's putting aside her hurt because something bigger is happening?_'

"Melody"—he spoke her name assuredly—"I know you still have a conscience. That's why you came, isn't it? Is"—suddenly, his throat ran dry—"is something happening with my brother?"

The cyborg didn't move.

And Donny almost threw his bō staff at her. "Dammit, Mel! Can't you just tell me? Tell me if Leo's alright! _Please_!"

"He is alive, however…" The woman stepped back in the disturbed snow until the Chūnin's weapon sunk in it as he reached towards her.

"I hurt you, Mel—like so many others in your life. You're one of those people who don't want to admit you need or want happiness. I convinced you otherwise and then—"

"Stop," the cyborg whispered, harsh.

"It was my fault—_mine_! Don't let Leo pay for—"

"I said _stop_!" she cried again.

New rage filled her being like the ignition of a gasoline fire and her features darkened in its intensity. Her stance steadied in seconds before she vaulted forward, right over Donatello's head. Heavy weight from her transformation cracked the cement she landed on and the damage expanded when her shaky fingers dug into the rough material beneath her crouch.

"I never should have looked for you," she said with a sneer. "I can deal with the problems on my own. Like I have always done."

"What problems?"

He wasn't meant for an answer, of course. The cyborg propelled her body across the street with great power and left Donatello standing numbly by the cracked ledge. The snow's dense haze obscured her form before she disappeared into the horizon, but the mutant couldn't stop staring.

"She actually…looked for me?"

* * *

So close. It was within grasp. A few more procedures and Doctor Marx's work would be complete. Amanda had never felt so much pain before—insisting she remain awake for every moment—but she also hadn't felt so…free. Like gravity no longer affected her. One could grow drunk on such a feeling.

'_Just a little longer_,' she thought. '_All we need is to wait for that shipment…Damn doctor. He should'a said something earlier if he needed more materials than the ones I gathered._'

Thankfully, she wouldn't need his help for much longer.

Stumbling from the bed in her temporary quarters, the redhead neared a dilapidated vanity that barely stood. She glanced at her reflection in the cracked mirror, under the dim glow of one working light. Darkness shrouded the room's remainder because the sun irritated her change. Small price; she looked marvelous.

'_Perfect,_' Amanda thought while running a finger over the bubbled lip between skin and metal on her face. '_Soon…I'll show Hunt and Hun and everyone else where my place should be._'

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Mel's confused and Amanda's about to _break_. ;) Hope you enjoyed Mel and Don's reveal meeting. Girl CAN make me laugh. Now, there's a matter to be addressed. I'm going away for an 8-day vacation. So, I'll leave a few presents:

Next up is "Over The Rainbow" in which Angel reveals her 'surprise' to Raphael and Leo speaks with an old man...  
After that, 24, is "Ricochet" where Raph speaks with Mikey, revealing a truth he wanted buried. Then, he meets Nia.  
Chapter 25, "Iron Butterflies" deals with Melody's struggle with Black Lotus and her first realization of love for Donatello is visited. Meanwhile, Don reveals to Mikey and Raph exactly what he did to turn Melody sour.

Read these at your leisure while I'm gone. And please REVIEW THEM like you would if I posted normally. It would be a wonderful gift to return to. :D Until later!


	23. Over the Rainbow

**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 23 - ****Over the Rainbow**

Angel held little desire to meet her ex-boyfriend; his name alone warranted a headache. She'd been avoiding him for such a reason. And she'd called Donatello days ago to tell him she had a cold that kept her under her grandmother's watchful thumb. It felt wrong, not looking for Leo with them. But she did make Don swear on his collection of MMORPGs that he would call if any leads were found. Aside from his run in with the cyborg Tabitha, there had been none…

The young woman sighed and tightened her leather jacket. '_I'm only here for one reason,_' she thought while pulling down the hem of her wool beanie. '_To finally tell him. Even after all these years, he's still not smart enough to make the right decision on his own…Louse._'

She left heavy vapor clouds every step she took through Central Park. The snow accumulation almost met her shins, but she trekked ahead until met with a round clearing. The tall trees surrounding it were bare and burdened with their catch. They led Angel's eyes to the white flecks steadily descending from the orange sky until her gaze fell on a shadowed figure that appeared suddenly—like the blink of an eye.

"You New Yorkers can keep your cold weather," the black-haired human called over the distance. "I'm done with it."

"Ya don't sound like ya got a cold," Raphael replied. He didn't enter the residual light from a lamppost outside the clearing, so Angel neared him, noting in humor the many layers of clothes that kept him insulated.

"You look like a biker mummy," she said with a little smirk.

"An' I feel like an ice cube."

"You called me here, bub."

"Yeah…thanks for comin'."

Angel half-shrugged when his eyes averted.

"Ya gunna sit?"

"Don't make this any harder than it's going to be, Raph. You know what we need to talk about is no small matter."

A wide, white cloud formed as the mutant sighed. At least he didn't deny it; he neared a tree beside Angel and leaned against it with his arms crossed. He was always doing that, leaning—especially when he was troubled.

"I know what happened when Nia returned from the hospital."

Raphael flinched, except she didn't know whether it was thanks to her frankness or his memory.

"How could you say _any_ of that?"

"I was"—words caught in his throat—"upset, alright?"

"No, it's _not_ alright." Keeping with the forthrightness, Angel crossed her arms and shook her head. "You've hurt Mikey and Nia. Badly. That's not okay."

"It was—"

"An accident? Not intentional? Oh, wait—don't tell me—it just 'slipped out', right? That's how it always is with you, Raph. But guess what? The people around you can only stand so many slips before they can't _take_ anymore."

"I've been goin' through things too!" Raph countered with the slightest growl.

"I heard Nia wanted to help you through that. And you wouldn't let her."

"How would ya—?" Slowly, Raph's amber eyes narrowed through the flurry. "Did ya talk wit' her?"

Angel kept an impassive expression. "Hell, you wouldn't tell me about her, so I took matters into my own hands."

"When? What'd ya talk about?"

"Girl stuff. What I will tell you is that she sounded sweet, and I feel sick knowing I was part of the reason that put her in the hospital."

"Ya weren't—"

"My part was unintentional. Yours? Not so much."

"What are ya talkin' about?"

"Please"—Angel's boot crunched in the tall snow—"don't make me call Master Splinter. I've had the feeling ever since I saw you again. But, seeing as how you had a new girlfriend, I hoped it was just some remnants from our history. Being wrong sucks."

"Wrong about what?"

"Your feelings for me."

Frankness was the only way to reach Raph, Angel knew. So when his glare faltered, she remained composed. She held onto the frustration, anger, and annoyance and ensured he noted it through every pore on her face.

"You…actually believed we could get together again," she said, softer than planned.

"I—I—"

"Don't lie, Raph; it will only drag this out. And I'm done. You _need_ to know this."

He would rather not listen, that's what his turned head and hunched shoulders said. But he didn't move from the tree, which meant—on some level—he knew she was right.

"Do you remember the surprise I mentioned when I met you four?"

The mutant gave a begrudging nod.

"I wanted to announce my engagement."

No amount of ice or snow could freeze Raph as stiff as he grew. The shock fostered from inside his bones, invading outwards until it filled his bulky form. He reeled a moment then faced her, silent.

"Yup. See?" The young woman delved into her jacket pocket and produced a sleek golden band with an impressive array of diamonds shaped like a heart. It was gaudy, really—not her taste at all—but the sight of it still caused her eyes to prickle with happiness.

"Looks like he makes good money," the mutant muttered.

'_First jab he makes, huh?_'

Angel scoffed before returning the ring to its resting place. "I'm not with him because of his cash. And for your information, this ring belonged to his grandmother. He's her only grandchild, so she gave it to him to give to me when he was thinking about proposing. Her husband already passed and… she told him she wanted him to find as much joy with it as she did."

"What's his name?"

"Raven."

"For real?"

The human met the mutant's arched eye ridge with her chin jutted out proudly. "Yes. Raven Drescher."

"Yer gunna be Angel Dresser?"

"Ha ha, Raph."

"Seriously, what kinda last name is that?"

"No better than Hamato. Now listen. I waited with this news because I wanted to tell you guys together. But that's not plausible anymore. Raph"—pausing, Angel's voice dropped—"I…I wouldn't take back what we had. Really. From the start even to my brother—it made me grow. And I still care about you. However…it wasn't meant to last."

With a garbled huff, Raphael laughed. Sort of. Angel couldn't describe the noise, exactly. She just knew it was his equivalent of a snide remark.

"While you apparently haven't, I've come to terms with that," the human added, sharper. "Now, I've met Raven and because of my previous relationship with you, I felt fully confident falling in love with him. He's"—she grinned stupidly in spite herself—"amazing."

"Does he fight better than me?" Raph asked with a not-so-subtle roll of his eyes.

"Few people do, Raph. But, he doesn't fight at all, actually. He's a dietitian."

"Yer gunna marry a dietitian?"

"You bet your ass I am!"

"That don't sound like much fun."

"Yeah, Raven would frown on your diet of cereal and pizza. There are things I eat that drive him crazy too."

"Yet he sticks wit' ya."

Yes, he does. Angel's heart fluttered at the thought. It was strange how the giddy feeling would resurface every time, like during their first kiss. It was now a permanent fixation within her, and she smiled more so at the passing imagine of her black-haired fiancé than the mutant she faced.

"We create a balance, Raph," she said plainly. "Without me, Raven wouldn't do anything fun. I know that because his family has told me as much. He can be obnoxiously calculating with everything, so I just gotta sneak up behind him and loosen him up. Like…

"Let him know it's okay if you wash your darks and your colors together at a warm-cool temperature. It's okay to wear your shoes in the house if you're too busy to take them off. One snuck in movie isn't going to kill you. And it's okay to let the dishes stack up while we find…other ways to occupy our time. I let him know he can bend his own rules."

"Yeah?" Raph didn't sound near as bitter, but his frequent fidgets meant he was fighting intrigue. "And what does he do to balance you out?"

"Keeps me grounded. With him I don't…I don't feel like I'm a punk girl who grew up in the slums. And I don't feel like I'm being taken out of my comfort zone, either. He gives me advice, but doesn't force it on me. He allows me to be my own person without…being separate from me. It—It's hard to explain, but…I feel at ease with him. Like everything is going to be fine, even if the world is ending…"

Her voice trailed off because of the emotion bubbling in her chest. She was never great with words, anyway. Let alone ones of love. She breathed loudly through her runny nose as the feeling settled and caught Raphael's eye with a pointed look.

"I want you to find that for yourself, Raph," she whispered into the frigid night. "And it won't be with me."

"I didn't really think…I mean…I…"

'_And cue his sensory overload. I won't get much out of him now. Guess it's time for the final blow._'

"I've spoken with almost everyone, save for Master Splinter. The stories I've heard are…heart-breaking, Raph. And they piss me off. Just admit you need to sort out you own emotions before you deal with anyone. Because when you _don't_, your family suffers. And now, your girlfriend's felt that sting. Or, is it another ex? She left that unclear in our call. Is it ex?"

Raph averted his gaze, pushing off the tree with his arms raised. "I…don't know."

"Well, make sure it gets decided soon. There's no need to make her suffer anymore, right?"

"I'm not—"

"No"—Angel cut the mutant off with a harsh glare—"You are. Her healing bones are nothing compared to what you've done to her heart. If you have such doubts, maybe you shouldn't be together. Just, don't make _me_ the reason you never took that first, real step. And don't cling to her as some sort of last resort either. Be honest. If you pick her, pick her because she makes you feel like everything will be okay at the end of the world. Pick her because you feel a spark. Otherwise, it's not fair. Or just."

That was enough for the night. It's all that needed said, anyway. So, with a curt wave goodbye, Angel flashed one last look at the contemplative mutant before heading for a pathway. Her fingers brushed against the cool ring and cell phone in her pocket and she pulled it out, eager to hear Raven's voice.

* * *

Ellen Summers.

David Summers.

Abigail Bryant.

Joseph Kim.

All these people were within Leonardo's grasp, at his fingertips. Yet he couldn't save them. Not one. Their words echoed in his dreams. Even when he woke, he couldn't escape them. It hurt, everywhere. Was it the insomnia? The drugs? The food? The cell? The people? Or was it the guilt? He couldn't tell. And that hurt even worse.

"_Save my baby!"_

"_We're all failures…"_

"_What's justice?"_

"_You're the Phantoms, right?"_

Shut up! Leonardo's palms clamped around his ears, though it never eased the ghosts in his mind. He could distract them once: by involving himself with the people around him. But…no one listened. Besides, what would come about? They'd leave him, too—their lives snuffed just out of grasp.

Maybe that was reality. He was never meant to save. Is that why he kept failing? Is that why his best was rarely good enough? He tried overcoming that fault, yet failed at that, too.

Yes. Failure was all he could achieve, wasn't it?

"You seem quite perplexed over there, kid," a raspy voice sounded from the Hall's end.

Leonardo's eyes opened and peered down it, though the dim lights, layered fences, and angle kept most of the cell obscured. "You can't even see me," Leo noted miserably. Really, he didn't feel keen on talking.

"You're right," Chandler replied. "I'm blind. But a blind man isn't just that. Sometimes, a blind man sees clearer than one with sight."

"That sounds like…something my father would say."

"I'm not anyone's father, kid. Believe me."

"I have no reason not to…"

A scoff sounded before a long, strained cough. "You're more agreeable than the others."

"Do they not see we must work together to get out of here?"

"Kid"—the amusement left Chandler's tone completely—"you've been here through Bryant and Kim. And those were just the most recent. There were dozens before them. What's left in this hall are the few whose bodies are genetically superior. But even those will waste."

Waste? Scents from his first arrival and test resurfaced and Leo placed his head against the door of his cell, cursing the churn of his stomach.

"You should make your peace now," the gruff man added. "It's what I tried to do. Before this mess."

"What?" Leo shook his head in need of a distraction. "What did you used to do?"

"Gamble." The answer was truthful yet bitter. "Yeah. I did a lot of it, ever since I was a teenager. It was my high. But with highs come lows…You ever regret anything, kid?"

"Who doesn't have regrets?"

"True. But I had hoped I would die without any."

You're not going to die; my brothers will come! That's what Leonardo wanted to scream. It would no longer be for the victim, though. So he kept quiet, digging his thick fingertips into the cell door.

"What about you, kid? Are you going to die with regrets?"

"What happened?" asked the Jonin over the man's words.

There was a pause as Chandler chuckled and wheezed. "It's not a long story. I grew up in wealth. And yes, I was spoiled. I treated everyone like tools, and only sought money for my fix. When my parents died, they tried giving everything to my more…reasonable little brother. But the right lawyers fixed that."

"You cheated your brother out of an inheritance?"

"Told you I was spoiled. My cousins and my brother wanted to use the money to keep our family business going."

"And you…"

"Gambled it all away."

Leo couldn't bring himself to feel pity. Not that Chandler seemed to care for such. The elder man wheezed again, shifting in his cell until Leo could make out two bony feet riddled with dark tumors.

"I lost everything. And my family hated me for my folly. Back then, I was blind. It took sleeping on the streets—alone—to realize the real damage I did. The company and the house paled in comparison to my family."

"Did they not forgive you?"

"No. They were driven to the brink of financial disaster thanks to the backlash from the company's failure. Last time I saw them was ten years ago, Christmas. They shunned me."

"But you apologized, right?"

"I did. And I had never been so honest about anything."

"So why?"

"I'm a gambler; I lie. They didn't believe me. Natty said, even if she did, she wouldn't forgive me because I killed our family's legacy…"

Understandable. Why was that the first word to enter Leo's mind? It was wrong. And yet…he felt he would've done the same if one of his brother's had done likewise. Gambling was dishonorable business. And to lose something so valued by your family because of it deserved punishment.

"I see you feel the same," Chandler remarked solemnly. The mutant opened his wide mouth for a protest, but the man coughed, saying, "No use denying it. One semi-useful ability Lombardo's cocktails have given me is the ability to sense emotion. It's alright. I just…wish I learned my lesson sooner. Maybe then, I would've been forgiven. Or…known real happiness. I hope…you lived…a more fulfilling life…than me…"

A sense of dread ebbed into Leonardo's muscles when another cough wracked Chandler. The man's gruff voice grew softer with every word—like it was taxing—and when he spoke again it was barely above a whisper.

"I never had anyone…listen to me before…so thanks, kid. It would've…been nice if—if I could of…seen my nephew, but"—he drew in a loud, sharp breath—"she probably doesn't know my name…Like you think, that's justice for a selfish old man."

"_True justice is rarely found in life, Leonardo."_

"No," Leo whispered back. "Life's just not fair…"

Chandler laughed in return, until the noise sounded like a hacking cat. "We're all looking for happiness," the man wheezed. "But it's like…chasing rainbows. You find it…over the rainbow…"

There was a long sigh through the hall. Then, utter silence. And Leonardo couldn't lift his head.


	24. Ricochet

****Disclaimer:** **TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 24 - ****Ricochet**

Raphael had never felt colder than when he knocked on Michelangelo's door. He dreaded its opening, but when no response sounded, he knocked again. And again. And again. Until the coldness was replaced with heat and his fist banged against the door.

"Come on, Mike! We need ta talk!"

There was violent sigh behind the wooden barrier then shuffling. Once the door lock clicked, Raph immediately swung the door open to find his youngest brother already back in bed. The disheveled mess hadn't been changed since Mikey's knife injury a while back, so his video game station still rested at its foot.

"Ya gunna say something, Shell-For-Brains?" asked Raph softly as he approached the Chūnin playing Mario Carts. Part of him hoped a weak insult would rouse some sort of anger or annoyance. It didn't. And the hothead found himself lost at Mikey's dead expression. "Mike—"

"_You_ have something to say to _me_, right?" the mask-free mutant retorted, curt. He spun out of control from a bomb left by an NPC then cursed while roughly jabbing his thumbs over the controller to get back in the race. "You talked with Angel, right? Like, day before yesterday?"

"Who told—" Pausing, Raphael part-way rolled his eyes.

"She was checking up on you," added Mikey with his listless eyes on the screen.

"I think she's gotten nosier since she left."

"She ain't dating you anymore, but she's still playing her part of a younger sister. Or, at least a cousin. Close cousin."

Raphael sighed at the memory of Angel's displeased expression—a loud and exhausting action. With heavy hands he snatched a chair from beside Mikey's bed and sat in it so his padded elbows rested on his knees.

"She said she's getting married," noted the youngest Hamato lightly. He spun out of control again, but didn't curse before building his momentum back up.

"Yeah," Raph replied. Still, it sounded strange. "Look, Mikey, I, uh…I'm—I'm…" He drew in a deep breath. "Sorry."

"Are you?" Mikey countered without skipping a beat. "Or are you saying that because Angel said you needed to be sorry?"

"That…ain't exactly what she said," the hothead grumbled while staring at his clasped hands.

"Oh…then good."

The youngest still sounded bitter, so Raph's head rose until he met his brother's still-surly profile. "I know bringin' up—_her_ was a low blow. Ya really liked her before Bishop—"

"She died because she was going to get me out of that hell hole."

"I know…"

"Christie is one thing. But you know what the worst part of that fight was?" Mikey paused, maybe for effect or to catch his own breath before he continued, "Feeling Nia's heart break through the power surge. That's the worst one I've ever felt, and it took Don three days to get us back online."

"I've felt something just as intense," noted Raph before realizing he was speaking. "When she was dyin'."

"Guess to her, they're almost equivalent."

That wasn't possible…was it? They hadn't been dating that long…and yet the thought sunk Raphael's gut with frigid realization.

"Nia and Angel aren't the same, Raph. You know that, right?" A new whine tinged the youngest's tone as he finished another racing lap and sent a brief side-glance.

Raph frowned at its evident annoyance. "Yeah."

"So why did you treat Nia the same way? Especially when you know how it ended with Angel?"

Why? Raphael always hated thinking about the why. It was the deepest of all questions and often left him tongue-tied, beyond flustered. A resilience bubbled in his chest the longer he contemplated it. Regardless, he forced it down, knowing Mikey deserved a reason and he could no longer keep it hidden.

"'Cuz if I acted anoddah way, things would be new…an' different."

"Dude"—Mikey's hands fell with the controller—"you already _were_ acting different. Like an ass."

"Self-defense."

"What?"

Slowly, Raph sighed as his brother brought up the game's score screen. "Part 'a it was conscious an' part 'a it…wasn't. I wanna find Leo an' I don't like how ya guys push me when I concentrate on something."

"You weren't concentrating; you were isolating—everyone!"

"That was build-up."

"Yeah, from your initial spark of stupidity: not treating Nia right."

Baby blues flashed with great intensity. Cold. Wounded. Distressed. They stuck into Raphael's chest like barbs and twisted with every shake of the youngest's head.

"Ya _really_ like her, don't ya?" asked Raph with alien tenderness.

The blue eyes widened then settled again, their owner's breath irregular.

"For how long?"

Michelangelo picked the controller back up to fiddle with it. "I—I don't know," he answered, soft while avoiding eye contact. "I guess…I always sorta liked her. But when she started liking you, I tried…not to. That probably would've worked if I didn't have to watch you be such—"

"An ass. I know, alright?" The hothead waved a hand at his brother, mostly because the constant reiterating was souring his stomach.

"If you know then why were you—"

"Because I was _scared_, Mikey!"

It slipped, really. For a moment, Raphael's mouth hung agape as thoughts raced back to him. By that time, Michelangelo flashed an inquisitive stare on the bed with all traces of contempt now gone.

"You heard me," the hothead added through fumbling lips.

"Scared of what?"

"Nia."

"Dude!" The younger Chūnin bellowed a laugh that brought irksome heat to Raph's face. "Nia's, like, the least scary person _ever_!"

"Ta ya!" Snorting, Raph slammed his carapace against the seat's back, unconcerned about its cracking when his arms crossed.

"Why—why—would you—"

"Like ya said, she ain't Angel…"

"I'm not following you, Bro." Mikey chuckled one last time then faced his brother evenly.

And despite how awkward it was to admit, Raph said, "The feelin' I get from Nia ain't anything like one I felt wit' Angel."

"How so?"

Raph's hands fell to his lap, where he began wringing them. "Angel made me…excited. When we were together, it felt like a thrill ride."

"You were partners is crime and, ultimately…friends with benefits."

"Guess that's true. It don't feel like that wit' Nia, though. She makes me…nervous. Her looks, her touches, her…voice." Sighing, the wringing of Raph's calloused hands tightened. "They make me feel vulnerable, exposed. An' I…I hate that—that _feeling_."

Even now, simply thinking about it, Raphael's insides contracted with such intensity he felt lightheaded.

"Raph"—Mikey spoke soft and with a bit of awe—"you acted nonchalant because you knew…she could share a deeper connection with you?"

"It freaks me the hell out!" His large body was shaking, but he hadn't the energy to stop it; that was all focused on keeping his voice clear. "Here she is—a human girl who can't lift her own weight—makin' me—the _strongest_ of us all—feel like I could crumble. It ain't right. How can she…?"

The younger Chūnin shifted in bed, though Raph couldn't lift his eyes, even when a hand met his quivering shoulder. "You have to trust her, Bro. Trust that if you did crumble, she would catch you. She would, you know? That's what she's been doing for me and Don this whole time."

"_You need a partner with strength of another kind. You need water, Raphael—just a little to keep your fire from growing too violent."_

"She was trying her best to help. And we could all see how badly she wanted to support you."

"_Why is it so hard to open up with me?"_

"You were so unfair towards her. All because you were latching onto the dream of Angel."

"It wouldda been safer," Raph croaked. He couldn't care less how pitiful he sounded when memories of Nia's pained eyes bore into his mind.

"You rarely play it safe; what's so different now?"

The answer was clear. Mikey just wanted to hear him say it. The red-banded mutant steadied his breath once his eyes met his brother's. It did no good for his speeding heart or sense of overwhelming nausea. Even so, he managed his words slowly,

"It's scary…givin' over yer heart…"

Was the answer please-worthy? It sounded lame. How else could he put it, though? It was the truth. He hated to admit it, but it was. And Mikey smiled kindly at him like he were crying. Raph touched his cheek. Dammit…

"You've always been about risk, Raph. You should take this one; the reward will outweigh anything you've ever earned before…if you treat her right."

"I—I don't know if I can."

"You can—so long as you've learned something from this mess and _grow_."

A smirk worked its way across Raphael's wide mouth. He had to hand it to his bonehead of a little brother: he knew the perfect ways to twist others' words in his favor.

"So"—Michelangelo jumped to his feet, determined gaze set on the hothead in the chair—"I want to hear it straight from the horse's—er, turtle's mouth. What do _you_ want?"

Raph met the youngest's finger with a slow blink before facing him. "I wanna…apologize ta Nia."

"And?"

"Find Leo."

"_And_?"

"…Give her a real chance."

"Perfect-a-mundo!" Mikey laughed like he needed to catch up on lost opportunities then rested both hands on his older brother's shoulders. "Don't you think Leo would be relieved if we saved him by working together instead of our hurt ricocheting off one another?" There was still worry and heartbreak behind Michelangelo's blue eyes: evidence that their Jonin wasn't forgotten and Nia was still fondly thought of.

"Yeah…Fearless is probably worryin' about everyone."

"You should apologize to Don, too."

"I will. But first…" His gaze dropped. "I need ta know if Nia will see me."

* * *

Power surges were frequent in Gavin Anders' home nowadays. So when every electronic within the two-story townhouse dimmed with a dull hum before evening out, he didn't so much as bat an eyelash. He did, however, place the genetics research paper he had been reading on the desk of his small study and stand in preparation to answer the front door. Just as he entered the narrow hallway beyond his study, an expected knock sounded—constant and heated. The redhead adjusted his glasses then steeled himself as he opened the door.

"Mister Brown!" a very short, pudgy woman scowled from the concrete stoop. The curlers in her wiry hair shook against the quaint backdrop of Columbus Square as she folded her flabby arms over her muumuu.

"I know, Misses Jenkins," Gavin countered, rigid.

"Your silly contraption has been causing trouble all _week_!"

"I know, Misses Jenkins."

"Do you know how many things I had to replace come Monday morning? Whatever you're doing in there shorted out most of the block!"

"So you told me, Misses Jenkins."

"You claim the darn contraption can't be shut off. Meanwhile, you inconvenience your neighbors. And—"

"Misses Jenkins"—Gavin's tone grew stony like his stance—"the persistent _bugs_ causing this glitch are being dealt with. However, it's a…fragile procedure. I apologize for any inconvenience with your…hair."

The elder woman scowled when the redhead's eyes landed on her mess of half-baked curls. She huffed in offence and turned in the snow, her boots crunching with every step. Once on the sidewalk, her tubby form twisted with a clawed finger pointed straight at his face like an arrow.

"You better get that thing under control before _some_ of us call the police!"

No, that wouldn't do at all, would it?

Gavin sighed as he blocked the cold night weather with the door. For a moment, his gaze remained on the coarse mat under his Moccasins. It still stirred unquenchable anger in him to think of Sunday night. When he had opened the door to find his only child shaking with tears, he knew just what happened. He expected it all along. Those mutants had driven her into a situation that broke her bones and Raphael went as far as to break her heart.

'_I warned her as much,_' though Gavin while clenching his fists. '_Splinter may revere his children. Yet they're still just that: stupid boys. I told her not to go back down there, and she didn't listen…_'

But because she did, she found out how her 'boyfriend' truly felt. Which was one positive note.

'_There are plenty of respectable young men she could choose instead. Above ground. And not…_'

The redhead scoffed, running a hand through his semi-long locks of his recent haircut. "I swear, if I see his scaly face I'll—"

Tap! Tap!

Gavin peered down the long length of the narrow hall.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

'_Who could be at the…? Oh, hell no._'

The man claimed heavy steps across the hardwood, though his shoes were light. A snarl already formed in his throat by the time he reached the large window at the hall's back. It erupted the moment his tense fingers unlocked the latch and slipped under the lower sash. He had already seen a brief glimpse of green within the blackness of night, and prepared himself completely for the disgusted look he always imagined sending Raphael's smell.

"Hi, Mister Anders," the mutant said with a strange sense of control. His bulky form shifted on the short fire escape, but Gavin didn't unblock the only entrance Raphael had.

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here."

"I know. Can I…can I see Nia?"

"Absolutely not." There was no waver in his caustic tone and while the red-banded ninja breathed loudly through his wide nostrils, he stood his ground.

"Look"—somehow, Raphael still kept his short temper under wraps—"I just need ta talk wit' her for a bit."

"I don't care what you have to say to her. Neither does she."

"Ya don't—"

"She's told me she doesn't want to see you. Ever. Says it hurts too much. I've spent the last _week_ listening to the things you said and trying to keep her calm so no attention is brought here. All thanks to _you_." Whispered or not, Gavin ensured the last word held weight. Just to be sure, he also jabbed a finger into the mutant's worn, leather jacket. That must've pushed a button.

"Just let me talk wit' her and I'll make it better!" cried Raphael without concern of the neighbors.

One of his large arms invaded the window's channel like a black snake against the wallpaper and Gavin's first instinct brought a fist to it. Cursing colorfully, the mutant drew his arm back, except a foot already rested along the sill. His massive feet looked larger in sneakers, like weapons capable of crushing bone. Before Gavin could help himself, he scrambled away, wide eyes drifting from Raphael's shoes to his sour expression.

"I—I ain't gunna hurt ya," the red-banded ninja noted with a light groan.

"I'm sure you told Nia the same thing," the redhead shot back.

Raphael froze once inside. Only, his gaze wasn't on Gavin.

"Did you find Leo-san?" The lights dimmed then flickered.

"Nia," Raphael said breathlessly. "N—no."

"Then why are you here?"

Nia's miserable tone strengthened Gavin's stance once more. He bit his tongue when he faced her listless form. She wore a thigh-length, black nightgown that dipped low enough to showcase the brace over her chest, as well as the same tights from two days ago. Her hair was a mess and accentuated her pasty face, but she didn't bother with it as she touched the open doorjamb that led into her loft. She had trouble breathing, he noted. Who knows what kept it under control.

"Nia, I…wanna talk wit' ya." Raphael's step forward was every bit as awkward as his sentence. He tried passing Gavin, but the man blocked him with an iron arm.

"Talk?" Nia said this like she found it morbidly funny. "_Now_ you want to talk? All those chances I gave you…or tried to…" Her words faded with disbelieving laugh that barely carried down the hall.

"I know I hurt ya, alright?"

"_Do you_?" she cried as the lights pulsated, the air filling with a prickling sensation.

Gavin shoved Raphael back then glanced over his shoulder when light stomping reached his ears. When Nia's short form passed him the prickling felt like hot knives through his tense muscles. He hardly had the mind to watch as she glared coldly at the mutant, whispering harshly,

"You've said you wanted emotion from me? Well here it is. I can't stand looking at your face knowing you don't care about me the way I thought you did. I can't _stand_ that you would string me along when you had no deeper feelings for me. Th—that's why you never wanted to talk, right? Guess I should've seen it before. I'm not…interesting. I'm not exciting. I'm a chicken. I suck at sports. I'm not all that pretty."

"Nia—"

"No!" Nia held up a hand that overloaded a recessed light by the front door. One by one the lights from there to the hall's end exploded as the young woman pushed Raphael towards the window with frequent shoves from her unbroken hand. "I'm _done_ being played with and I'm no rebound girl, either! I really wanted you to notice me, so I did something out of character. Even that blew up in my face. I'm no Angel, and I never wanted to be. And I don't want to hear what you have to say. So get _out_!"

"Nia, I—!" Raphael raised his hand, but the human practically propelled the shocked mutant out the window.

"Get out!" she sobbed without facing him.

Gavin's vision had turned mostly white by the time Nia retreated to her loft. He didn't watch her run and instead kept a close eye on the red-banded ninja that sat on the window sill. His amber eyes were wide, his expression lost. But Gavin didn't care; it served him right.

"See?" the redhead added while crossing his arms. "Told you she didn't want to talk."

Raphael had no words to reply with. He didn't meet the man's eyes when he turned and placed an unsure sneaker into the snow outside. "Just…tell her I'm real sorry," he said softly—like one defeated.

Gavin gave no confirmation as the mutant left.


	25. Iron Butterflies

******Disclaimer:** ****TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 25 - ****Iron Butterflies**

Melody clamped a hand over Sven's mouth, pushing him further into the camera's blind spot of the hall. "I told you to keep calm," she said under her breath.

The taller cyborg bore into her face with round, mechanical eyes that resembled goggles. "You tell me _that_ and expect calmness from it?" he questioned after roughly pulling her hand away.

Mel didn't feel his grip; she knew he didn't feel her hand, either. Her step away was easy, but her expression hardened when her eyes fell on Tabitha beside her. The slender Nubian trembled lightly at the thought, despite knowing about it for days.

"So," Mel started, bland, "neither of you really changed. It is a show for Doctor Stephens."

"Don't let him hear you call him that," Tabi grumbled.

"We weren't the same at first," Sven added in a quivering voice. "When parts of our personality started to shine, we quickly learned it was frowned on."

"Why make our new landlord upset, right?" Huffing, Tabitha's weight shifted and her scrawny arms crossed. It was an attempt at remaining collected, obviously.

"And it seemed we had good reason." Sven tried pacing, but couldn't in such little space. "Dammit!"

"Keep your voice down," Melody snapped. Really, panicking wouldn't help.

"You know what?" The redhead paused and if he had eyes, they would be wide as his robotic finger found the blonde's face. "Before, I could do my job just fine. I didn't have to see—anything. Our work was like a, uh, delivery. We go pick up, drop off, sleep and eat. Repeat. I was _fine_ with it."

"Me too," whispered Tabitha, dark eyes searching for any Black Lotus employees. "I mean, at least we had a…place. We could belong for once, but…I don't want to be a part of _that_."

"Where the hell is he getting so many bodies anyway?" Sven hissed through a shaky breath. "I never gave him anything extra. Tabi?"

The Nubian cyborg shook her head when met with her squad.

Melody caught their gazes with a soft snort. "It must be another source. The room was hidden, so he is clearly working outside of the company's knowledge…and guidelines."

"How long do you think he's been working this way?"

The blonde frowned at Sven's question.

When she entered Doctor Stephens' hidden room beside his office, she never expected to witness so much death. Haggard bodies were piled in heaps along the room's baseboard, as if the doctor shoved them aside while sterilizing the center area with a single operating table above a drain. Their states of decay were so numerous—their stench so horrid—Melody barely caught a glimpse of peeled flesh, detached limbs, and mounds of dried blood before she left in a state of surprise. She did, however, noticed a distinct pattern of Purple Dragon emblems around the room…

"Melody?"

The blonde snapped from her thoughts to draw air in and Sven paled when their gaze connected.

"Oh, _you're_ shaken up?" he asked on the verge of panic. "That means a long time and worse than it sounds. Oh, man."

"You cannot show fear," whispered Melody with newfound steel.

The two before her trembled and fidgeted like children at a doctor's office. They swallowed often—though their throats were no doubt dry—and glanced up and down the hall. Anxiety. Melody never liked how it showed on a person. It was too reminiscent of her mother, and the blonde found herself wishing she could somehow calm them.

"_You're trying not to, but you still care."_

Melody's only brow twitched at Donatello's invasive voice. "Shut up."

"We haven't said anything, Gray," Sven spat. "But if you want to say something, you could tell us what we're going to do."

"Me?"

Tabitha neared Melody then nodded. "Well, duh. Sven's the so-called 'Planner', but Stephens labeled wrong. You always were the one who knew what to do. You led things. Sven's a follower."

"Don't make it sound like I haven't got a backbone," the redhead muttered, glaring. He opened his mouth to say more, except fell silent when his eyes lifted.

"What are you kids doing?" an Indian accent questioned.

Sven and Tabitha grew rigid at it. Like armatures. Melody, meanwhile, coolly met a short woman conquering the industrial hall. The petite, tanned figure reached Mel's ear and a waft of irritating perfume plumed from her silk tunic. She flashed a smile with thin, dark painted lips, but it didn't soften any of her sharp, sunken features.

"Good day, President Tate," said Melody, drear.

"Please, call me Velma," she replied while draping a long braid over her shoulder. "My cousin keeps you all from me quite jealously. But you are a part of our cause, so I would like to be friends."

She may have honestly meant that. Still, it wasn't a risk Melody was willing to take. "Things are run in a professional manner within the Black Lotus Organization, are they not, President Tate? Is it not counterproductive to suggest otherwise?"

Velma blinked in response before giving a short, light laugh. "My cousin has done quite the number on you three…"

Did she seem remorseful about that? Melody couldn't tell since the brief glimpse of pain behind the president's dark eyes lifted when she inhaled.

"Doctor Lombardo was requesting for you, Miss Gray. I was heading to my cousin's office to see if you lot were with him, but—"

"I will see to her right away, Ma'am." Without nodding, the blonde whirled and gave her squad pointed looks. They understood the message, thankfully, having already settled back into character so Velma wouldn't notice any strange behavior. '_Good, we cannot afford any slips_.'

"Miss Gray, if you would." Velma's accented call earned Melody's attention as Sven and Tabitha left. "Lombardo's halls have suffered many losses recently. Just these past two weeks, she's lost _eight_."

"Is your organization not flourishing into the flower you had hoped for?" The cyborg spoke with complete ambiguity, so Velma hesitated while assessing its meaning.

"A flower requires time to bloom, Miss Gray," the Indian said with a grim smile. "It also needs strong roots and rich soil. Which I'm trying to lay. You're a smart girl and I know your suggestions have helped Doctor Lombardo in the past. So, if you would give me a true report on her failures, I could find a higher place for you in the company."

"Does she not report failures to you?"

"She reports what is obligatory. She's terribly invested in Recro12 and will stop at nothing to see it succeed. I would rather not waste resources if it's a dead end. You understand."

The cyborg met the president with a bland expression, saying, "I will report if I find additional failures; however, a promotion is unnecessary."

"You sure? You could benefit much more to the company than—"

"Doctor Lombardo should not be kept waiting. The matter could be urgent."

"Yes…yes, of course." Velma frowned like a disappointed child as she back-stepped, a sigh in her chest. "Come to my office if you notice anything."

Melody nodded curtly then turned on her boot's heel. No, saying good-bye wasn't her way and she felt confident leaving Velma in the hall to head for Hall F. A sigh sounded from behind, but the cyborg paid the president no mind.

'_Misses Tate is not an obtuse woman; she senses something amiss. However, her misconception that Lombardo is the cause will guide her down the wrong path. She must look to her cousin, yet I cannot possibly provide evidence without subjugating myself to Stephens' retaliation. I know…even between the three of us, we would be helpless. Despite the success he believes he has achieved with us, he has prepared for folly._'

Mostly. Plans held holes; it was fallible human nature that ensured so. All Melody had to do was play her part within Stephen's puppeteering while waiting for a chance to exploit a weakness.

The cyborg scoffed, realizing what she was planning. '_It seems this is the role I am meant for. No matter how far I run or how deeply I attempt to bury my old self, I always wind up as…For hell's sake, I was torn apart and stitched together with metal. Still, I am not as different of a person as I want…though I tried._'

She did, from the moment of her wakening. The paralyzing chest pain that wracked her body before the change no longer plagued her and on that principle alone, the cyborg gave Stephens her full cooperation. The utter listlessness, the detachment didn't bother her in the least. He deemed her a new creature that wasn't bogged down by the trivial weights of human morals so the necessary could be accomplished. In other words, he sought to sever her conscience.

And for a time, Melody accepted his intentions. Freedom from caring roused a sense of liberation in her, regardless of its hollowness. She needn't worry about finding food, seeking shelter, fighting, or healing. She only needed a target.

'_But ever since Leonardo was taken, life has been pushing me in another direction. Seeing Donatello's face…I want to keep hating him. I want to keep my distance from his burn. And yet part of me says…Why? I felt no confliction before he entered the picture and now—he…_'

Melody scowled, glaring at the balled up hands by her sides. Donatello had always been an enigma. His views constantly threatened her cool and assured demeanor and threw her world off kilter in a way no one ever had before. Even to this day he did such—without trying. And she knew how. It wasn't a realization she had recently concluded, either; it was something she had known for a long time…

"_No, that stance is too rigid, Melody," Donatello said with a shake of his bald head. He unfolded his toned arms and crossed the harsh light of the junkyard clearing filled with fallen leaves from early autumn._

_Melody grimaced at the critical glint in his brown eyes as he straightened her bare knees with calloused finger tips. "Is bending this much necessary? It threatens your equilibrium."_

_The mutant didn't face her, but smiled when she conformed to his guidance. "Part of Ninjutsu is retaining a sense of balance no matter which position you're in," he replied, didactic while stepping back._

"_I feel like a sumo wrestler," the redhead grumbled, eyeing the staff she awkwardly gripped above her bent legs. She noticed his vision was set on it too. "What now?"_

_He gave a weak, dorky laugh before saying, "The bō isn't a bat or crowbar, Mel. Think of it as an extension of yourself, another limb."_

"_If I wanted another limb, I would jump in a barrel of toxic waste."_

"_You're much too smart to believe that will work." The purple-banded mutant said this with snort-laugh that revealed the gap between his front teeth. Melody felt her cheeks burn under it, though the laugh wasn't what unnerved her. It was his indirect compliment._

_She blew a noisy breath from her full lips then straightened, tossing the bō at Donatello while averting her eyes. "Whatever. Never should've asked about it anyway."_

"_Don't be like that," he countered with an easy grin. His large hands caught the staff without glancing at it then spun it expertly when he entered her field of vision. "You aren't one to give up. What's wrong?"_

"_It's wasteful," Mel answered instinctually._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I'm not going to start carrying around a staff, so it seems pointless that I even asked." Mel would rather ignore the flash of disappointment that crossed Don's green features. Unfortunately, it shot through her gut and reminded her she had been the curious one._

"_Well, what you learn from practicing with the bō isn't limited to the staff," Donatello started. _

_He moved with the fluidness of running water as he whirled the bō around his carapace, arms, and legs. It resembled a dance, where he occasionally froze in one strange position before elegantly transitioning into the next. And Melody's eyes couldn't help observing the tenseness of his muscles._

"_It teaches one to expand their senses, and treat their weapon as part of their own body," he continued, erudite, without pausing. "It takes diligence, willingness, and endurance—all of which are useful traits. Then again, you already know these traits well."_

_Another compliment? The redhead's stomach lurched and her fists balled in frustration. It was silly, being unnerved over words. If they were anyone else's, she could write them off or roll her eyes. But they weren't. And they settled on her chest like bricks._

"_Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly._

_Mid-formation, Donatello paused then eased. "Do what?" he countered, innocent while slipping his staff into its holster._

_At his slow blink, the redhead considered retracting her words because her pulse quickened. However, a need to know refocused her, and she steeled her stance by crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. _

"_Praise me," she retorted as if he had spoken insults. "I'm not a praise-worthy person. I'm just as low as anyone else on the streets, and even less important. Is it something you usually do with people?"_

"_Not necessarily." The mutant's expression was soft yet still serious. "I'm not dishonest about it, so I say what I mean."_

_So…he honestly found her smart and diligent?_

"_Of course, there are rare occasions. This"—he paused to give a geeky smile—"This isn't one of those cases. I don't think you give yourself enough credit, Mel. Like my brothers and I have strived in Ninjutsu, you're strived in your own art form. Everything you've done in your life has been a sacrifice for others. From your mom to the numerous homeless struggling with health issues. They all trust you, rely on you. You know what it's like to be the underdog and fight for them. _That's_ what I admire about you. You're—"_

_Melody couldn't speak when Don paused with his arms half-raised; the words were literally plucked from her dry throat. She prayed the flabbergasted sensation that seized her didn't shine through her expression as badly as she felt it did. Then again, the mutant no longer faced her and scratched idly at his neck._

"_If you feel like I'm lying, then I'll tell you there are parts of you I disprove of. Your severity, for one. Your favoritism towards only homeless, for another. And I wish you weren't so cynical. However…" His profile broke into a sincere smile. "They're parts of you. And anyone worth knowing comes with good and bad. I'm just glad…I finally get to see more of the good."_

_Before, she couldn't speak. Now, she couldn't breathe. Donatello wrote off the moment's intensity with a casual laugh. He probably hadn't realized how deep his words struck and spoke more, though Mel's ears only registered her erratic pulse. When his tall form spun and walked away, she remained stiff, glued to the ground by a realization akin to iron butterflies. They didn't flutter about, leaving her giddy; they sunk low and flapped their heavy wings in heaps that bruised her on the inside._

_The reason Hamato Donatello's words affected her so much was because…she was in love with him._

"_Hey, Mel! I thought we were going to work on the anti-graviton displacer again!"_

_Don's voice hit like a splash of cold water and the woman shook her head violently. "R—right. Coming."_

That was over a year ago. And the one time she decided to act on those feelings…ended with a stake through her heart.

"Miss Gray, do you plan to walk right by my lab?"

Melody paused in the hall and craned her neck sideways, blinking at Lombardo's scowl.

"Whatever," the carrot-top noted with a brusque sigh. "Now that you're finally here, I would like a second opinion on the biopsied tumor from Chandler O'Malley's corpse."

"Which one?" the cyborg questioned, monotonous. "His skin was littered like bubble wrap."

"All. I have a theory about Recro12. We may need…much younger subjects."

* * *

"I'm not surprised you got the boot, Bro," Michelangelo calmly remarked. With a morose grin, he spun in a computer chair from the Lair's lab and barely noted Raphael's sneer from another chair. "Did you really think you could show up and fix everything with a talk?"

"I _know_ things won't be fixed in one go," the hothead retorted. His Brooklyn drawl sounded thicker thanks to his emotion. "I did hope she would at least…see me."

No, Mikey couldn't stop his laugh. "Didn't even wanna see your ugly mug! Makes sense. I mean, you did—"

"I _get_ it, alright? So stop mentionin' what a—"

"Ass you were?"

Raphael paused in his rise from his seat.

"Knock it off, Mikey," Donatello interjected before something clanked loudly against a metal table. Mikey spun to watch his purple-banded brother release a dead power cell from his loose grasp then scan several tools scattered across his work area. "It's not right to rub a raw wound."

Mike pursed his wide mouth. "Raw? More like fresh."

"Either way, it isn't right. Raph realizes what he's done and now he's striving to fix it. Right, Raph?"

Hum, a test. Their resident hothead's never been good at tests. The orange-banded Chūnin eyed Raphael carefully. His settled frown confirmed the genius' words, yet an uncertain air in his Chi spoke of his fear of failing. Don must've sensed this behind his back and twisted from his project, tool in hand.

"This is _your_ choice, right?" the gap-tooth mutant asked. "You aren't doing it out of guilt or obligation or something worse? Because if you're going to win her back, it should be because it's what you _want_, from the most sincere part of your heart."

"Don't get mushy on me, Donny," Raph muttered while glancing away a moment.

Don's face remained unchanged. "Don't be concerned about that; not now. It's something you _need_ to answer. Are you fighting for the two of you or not?"

Fingers tensed on each side of his seat, Michelangelo froze. His blue eyes drifted from one older brother to the next, sensing who would make the next move. Raph twitched first. It must've been the intensity of Don's stare; it was like hot iron, more serious than ever before.

"Yeah," Raph said with a slight shuffle of his feet. "I want her back."

"Then you'll get her back. You just have to give it time and don't give up."

"Like ya havn't given up on Gray?"

Donatello's tall form grew rigid. "Y—yeah…"

"Gray," Mikey whispered when the genius returned to his task. The youngest Chūnin frowned because it seemed his brother was sidestepping the topic, so he raised his voice, saying, "You know, you haven't told us very much about her. Not even Splinter."

"That's because neither of you have cared to ask," retorted Don, forthright. It was hard to tell whether he was sad or annoyed over the fact and Mikey partly shrugged.

"Sorry, Donny, she did kinda…"

"Take Leo," Raph finished bitterly. A harsh scrape pieced the air, silencing the hothead.

"But we aren't going to mention that just yet," Mikey commented with a narrowed side-glance towards Raphael. "Besides, I'm curious. She seems really…upset with you. What'd you do, leave her at the altar?"

There was a long, long moment of silence. Then, a sigh.

"_What_?" Mikey cried in unison with Raph. He about fell off his chair in shock, but steadied himself with a leg. Barely.

"It wasn't exactly the altar," said Don miserably. Still, he didn't turn. Maybe he couldn't. "But to Mel? It was the equivalent…"

"So ya chickened out on her?" The hothead sounded a little too amused.

"Says the chicken that ripped the heart out of his girl." Mikey remained steeled, though daggers were glared at him.

Don sighed again. "It wasn't very good timing. She came to me…just after July. Early August."

July. The month sent a shiver down Michelangelo's spine. Despite that, he kept calm, knowing he had already earned forgiveness.

"What happened?" he asked, soft in his sincerity.

"Of course she noticed my behavior. Mel's astute like that."

"And you're easy to read."

"_Anyway_, for months she'd been acting weird. I mean—in hindsight—part of me knew why because…it—it's how I acted as well. But I"—he paused, a shaky hand clenching above the power cell—"I turned a blind eye to it. I knew I shouldn't acknowledge it; love's dangerous for us. I didn't want to admit I could have any part in it, especially with a human…"

"Yeah, Raph's experience probably didn't help either." Again, there were daggers.

"It wasn't just Raph," Donny continued. The shakes from his hand worked up his arm until his whole frame shook. A hick forced him to seek leverage from the table, but he still looked ready to fall. "I wanted Melody to come to me if she really felt that way. But when she did…I didn't even let her finish speaking!"

"That's harsh, Bro," added Mikey, eye ridges knit.

"You don't know the half of it because you don't know Mel!"

"We got a pretty good idea 'a her scorn from her fights wit' ya," said Raphael with an animated hand.

Don's head shook. "No. I panicked. I kept imagining what it would be like if Mel had been in David or Ellen's place. I shot her down adamantly in that fear…I—I did that to her and she _still_ helped me with Nia. Every moment that she did, though, I knew it cut into her. And it made matters worse."

"When we were talkin' about Nia in the garage," Raph started, serious. "This was the mistake ya mentioned."

The genius gave a slow, dreadful nod. "I regret what I did. Every day. And not because of what she's become."

"Yeah, I could tell that, Bro."

"Raph…I warned you. This feeling eats at you—body and soul. It hurts _so_ damn much."

There were obvious tears, Mikey could tell. So he didn't blame his tallest brother for remaining still.

"The Melody I know—that I _love_—is still in there and I'm reaching her. It may not seem like it, but I am."

"If that's what it takes to get Leo back and help you, Don, we'll do it your way," Michelangelo contributed in a strong tone. His blue eyes sent Raphael a pointed look.

In spite of his scowl, he added, "What Bonehead said."

"Thanks," Donatello whispered back, his form easing.

A silent moment barely passed before the chiming of Mario's theme song broke it. Eye ridges raised, Mikey fumbled along his belt for his Shell Cell and flipped it open without reading the caller ID.

"Nia?" he asked a bit excitedly.

There was a scoff on the other end. Okay, so not Nia. "Michelangelo."

"Ah, it's just you, Hugh," the youngest noted with puckered lips. Raphael sat back in his seat, obviously disappointed as well. "What do you need?"

"To talk." Whatever the pressing issues was, it left the man breathless. "You won't believe what just happened."


	26. Stand

**Author's Notes:** I'm back from vacation, ya'll. And I would like to thank you SO MUCH for the reviews. Love my Big Six! Now...  
Cyborgs are in a bigger pickle than you realize. ;D  
I'm glad I didn't disappoint.  
Yes, Gavin's still Gavin.  
If the chapter with Nia kicking Raph out broke your heart then I did my job.  
And Stephens is coo-coo for Coa-Coa Puffs. This chapter shows some of that. Also, I'm _sorry_.  
**Warning:** Second scene will break your heart...Also, there's blood, death, and Stephens.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 26 - ****Stand**

Hugh's eyebrow twitched as he stared at the blinking 'call ended' message on his smart phone's screen. Really? Again? How many times was Jezebel going to call then hang up? Now, understanding young women—or women in general—wasn't Hugh's forte, but something was obviously wrong. She hadn't been kidnapped as well and was looking for help…was she? Hope not. Because he hadn't really been investigating the matter.

"Reese." Sharp, demanding—the voice belonged to Wendell Erb.

From the closed doors of a bustling press conference room, Hugh looked up, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his dress slacks as a heavy-set inspector stormed his way. "Yes, Sir?" he questioned over the roar of reporters, police, and others guests echoing from the high walls.

Wendell narrowed his gray eyes beneath the brim of his uniform cap, full mustache scrunched against his short, snub nose. "The commissioner just arrived, so the interview will start soon. And I want you on your _best_ behavior."

"I'm always on my best behavior."

"I mean it, Hugh! If this conference doesn't go smoothly, it could mean our jobs. You know how attached the commissioner's becoming."

With a curt snort, Hugh rolled his eyes until they landed on the blue backdrop behind a wooden stage at the room's highest point. It was surrounded, half circle, by loose chairs (all of them filled), projectors, and camera stands, and outlined by a long, curved desk where three figures were joined by a fourth from the only opening point.

Dressed in his police finest, the figure—Commissioner Jeffrey Powell—looked circular in every sense of the word, especially his head. When his plump figure twisted to give a few reporters a wave hello, Hugh noted some weight gain in his rounded jaw and cheeks that melded them into his neck.

'_Please say I won't look like that when I'm in my fifties…_'

"Reese."

Hugh scowled when his gaze drifted towards the side of Powell. Even sitting, the semi-tan man in sunglasses regarded those around him with an unearned regality. He sent obsequious smiles while adjusting the tie on his suit and the detective found himself growling when the man's head of dark hair turned his way.

"Reese!"

Hugh barely tore his eyes off Agent Bishop to face the red-faced inspector. "Oh, sure, I can behave. The Commissioner's only feeding the sensationalizing of a madman."

"Look, I'm not fond of Bishop either," Wendell added while Hugh leaned against the doorjamb like a pouting child. "I admit, what happened this Halloween was…above the norm. But what he claims is just—" The Caucasian shook his head then turned part-way, a finger at the African-American's face. "We have no say in the matter, Hugh. Bishop's taking bigger steps in this city, so we're going to have to deal with it. Meaning: take your security seriously."

"Yeah, yeah," Hugh countered with a wave of his hand. When the inspector left for his post, the brown-eyed man added under his breath, "Easy for you to say; you didn't have his second-in-command whacko try to crush your face with her boot."

Agent Barrett. She was present, too, standing in complete EPF uniform like a lifeless doll beside the stage. Was she even human? Her high ponytail of medium brown hair shined like a woman's, but her pasty skin looked dull, synthetic.

"Are you ready to start?" some unknown voice asked behind an electronics station.

"Yes, I'm ready," a wavy-haired brunette answered with an attractive smile. "What about you boys?"

Bishop and Powell nodded in unison, having broken up a private chat.

"Alright," the coordinator said before giving the chattering crowd a quick glance. "We're going to start now, so if everyone could please be quiet!"

Slowly, the vast room eased into silence, every set of eyes focused on the quartet on stage. The cameras fired up. The spot lights focused. And everyone behind them smiled as the countdown started.

"Good morning, fellow New Yorkers," the brunette said pleasantly into a mounted microphone on the desk. "I'm May Fields from Channel Six News, joining you at City University of New York in an open forum for the _first time_ with the city's latest celebrity. I know a few of you are dying to ask questions, but first, let me introduce these strapping gentlemen beside me."

With a pause of silence, May swiveled her seat, directing a hand at the first man beside her. "We all know and love our city's Police Commission Jeffrey Powell. To his left is, of course, Agent John Bishop, and to his side is Seventeenth Precinct's Mario Wilkins."

Doughnut. He procured a spot in the interview how? Hugh gripped his biceps through his dress shirt, blowing out a noisy breath from his defined lips.

"Tell me, boys," May added, sheepish for play. "How is your investigation into the Little Red Robberies fairing?"

Powell smiled in return. "Agent Bishop has been working hard alongside Midtown South's division. With his aid, the task force has developed an algorithmic means of predicting possible future targets and installing state-of-the-art defenses into them. I can't say which, but there's a high chance, the next target the Little Reds pick, could be their last."

"And what if it is?" added a male reporter from the crowd. He stood, pen and pad in hand and peered eagerly at the stage. "Sorry, Bryan Adams with local news. Can you tell us if Agent Bishop will help wrap up the case? Or will he move onto to other things? And if so, what other things does he have lined up?"

"Mister Adams," said Bishop as he stood from his seat. "I am a thorough man and I intend to stand by the honorable police of this city as long as possible. The Little Red Robberies hold many questions yet to be answered, so I won't rest until I've answered them all. I will answer them for this _city_, which has been subject to their tyranny for _too long_."

A light round of applause drifted across the room when Bishop smiled. Hugh didn't think one could feel nauseous from the simple clapping of hands. He was wrong.

"Granted, there is much I wish to accomplish, Mister Adams. However, my next project will focus on the erecting and filling of EPF headquarters. I plan to open applications next spring, so spread the word: if anyone wishes to join me alongside the police, they _will_ have a chance."

"What are the requirements for such a position?" another reporter asked.

"Is anyone eligible?" noted a third.

"Will there be part-time positions?"

"Do we get to know more about this past Halloween if we do?"

Bishop grinned at them all. To reporters, the agent looked amused, maybe a bit overwhelmed. But Hugh saw the truth. It was a sociopath's smile. He scoffed at it and prepared himself to walk out the door to escape the room's clamoring for Bishop's attention. As his long fingers gripped the handle, though, he noticed a woman standing near the crowd's back.

She didn't dress as nice as the other reporters and a young woman beside her failed to pull her back down. Her expression while facing the stage wasn't one of intrigue; it was one of hurt, loathing, and exhaustion. She resembled Blaine and Jennifer with such an expression, causing the detective's stomach to sink at the bags under her deep-set eyes. Slowly, his fingers left the cool handle, his eyes focused on the woman's mess of dark brown curls before he realized something.

'_That's…Samantha Watkins. How'd she get in here?_'

"Is _this_ where all you resources are gathered, Commissioner?" Samantha asked in a voice more tired than the dark glaze over her eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Powell replied, his thinning brows furrowed.

"It's always the same with news, isn't it? Only the stupidest of things get reported."

"Sammy!" cried Samantha's companion. A fancier dressed female stood and, again, tried to force the brunette down. She couldn't budge.

"Who are you?" the Commissioner added, politeness strained.

With a harsh shove against her friend, Samantha steeled herself at the cameras. "Why isn't anyone asking the meaningful questions? Why don't they ask where the funds for this EPF headquarters are being pulled from? Or why the police _still_ haven't investigated my filed missing person's report?"

"I'm sorry for her interruption, Commissioner, Sir," Wendell noted while advancing through the lines of chairs. "Misses Watkins, you'll have to come with me."

Samantha's long, curly hair shook like a pompom as she narrowly avoided the inspector's grasp by jumping over her empty seat, her gaze once again set on Powell. "This whole press is a joke!" she bellowed, arms animated. "I came, hoping you would announce the cancellation of Bishop's headquarters. Why is it still in effect? You _know_ where that money came from!"

"Watkins, is it? Please be reasonable." Powell stood from his seat angrily and regarded the woman with grim, round eyes. The Inspector neared Samantha again, at the back row, and she twirled around him, only to be caught by the waiting arms of a second officer.

"People rely on those funds!" she continued, louder.

"Programs for the handicap and homeless still exist, Misses Watkins."

"It's not _good_ enough! It never has been!" Samantha's trembling arms struggled against the two men at her sides, yet she wouldn't stop. Even when they began dragging her away, her skinny legs flailed beneath her skirt, her frustration boiling over, "Without the grant, I can't support my family. We'll go bankrupt! But you people won't give us a second glance because you don't care! No one in power _really_ cares because they have power. And they spend their days spewing lies, exalting one another, and wallowing in self-indulgence while pretending to attend less fortunate persons when, really, they want those persons on the bottom so they _look_ better!"

"Misses Watkins, that's _enough_!" Powell chastised in a voice that echoed.

Still, the curly-haired woman didn't falter—her protesting heels beating against the floor so loudly, Hugh felt them vibrate in his beating chest. "You're sensationalizing your role, Mister Bishop," she hissed over the room's awe. "And taking from the one's who matter. Just because someone isn't on TV doesn't mean they don't matter. Just because someone lacks a title doesn't mean they don't matter. Just because they can't form an intelligent sentence or "—Samantha hicked as tears slipped down her long cheeks—"or are known to disappear _doesn't_ meant they don't matter. They _do_ matter—_every one_ of them! My brother matters, Commissioner, and you're _stupid_ for losing sight of what you've promised to uphold!"

She said more, but was jumbled by tears and emotion. Her stilled legs could no longer support her when the police escorted her from the room completely. By the time the group's attention fell on the stunned Commissioner on stage, Hugh's stomach caught in his throat. Well, it felt that way. And he tried swallowing it as Bishop spoke.

"The poor dear seems so stressed. It is only right to help her. Would you not say, Commissioner?"

Wordless, the round policeman faced Bishop with the most obvious look of confusion.

"It is the oath of the police force to honor and protect their citizens, uphold the law. If someone is missing, you _should_ be looking for them."

"Yes, of course. I'll find which division the report was filed with and—."

"Why not take it a step further?"

Hugh felt his muscles stiffen; he didn't like the subtle mischievousness in Bishop's tone.

"A step further, Agent Bishop?"

"Yes. There has been an increase in kidnappings within the city, right?"

Powell hesitated under the eyes of reporters before saying, "Yes. Those numbers fluctuate from year to year."

"Except this year has been…notable. Why not use my resources to help? If there is someone _unfound_ in this city, together, we can bring them to where they _belong_. After all, the EPF's ultimate goal is to ensure the safety of humans."

"Wait," Adams injected, "does this mean you plan to investigate the _entire_ city?"

Oh, hell. Before Bishop answered, Hugh hurriedly dug into his pocket for his phone. He heard the agent mention something about turning over every brick if that's what it required, but panic blocked out whatever was said next. Slipping out the room, the detective shifted through his phone contacts while stalking the university hall and when Michelangelo's name appeared, he tapped it.

* * *

They're dead. They're dead, and there's nothing you could do about it. You assured them—all of them—that your brothers would help. But they didn't come, did they? You lied. Because you're weak, a failure. You couldn't save one little boy. An old man. Or two women literally within reach. It was right none of them believed you. You can't even hold onto the hope that you'll be saved, let alone convince the others.

Not that they want you. They only care about themselves. Typical humans. Why did you ever bother to help them in the first place? What a waste! You wouldn't be here if you had kept to yourself and left human matter's alone. But you can't leave things alone, can you?

That's why your brothers aren't here. They probably stopped looking for you days ago. Odds are they work better without you anyways. They probably feel relieved; they don't have _you_ there to fret and criticize. Yeah, they're probably all gathered around Splinter in the Lair with the Christmas tree set up, retelling what a poor leader you were and how thankful they are to finally live in peace.

And you'll rot, alone, in Cell F-9 because you failed. And because justice doesn't really exist. And you will regret never finding happiness of your own because you always sacrificed it. For others who didn't _want_ it!

"You practicing your mime act, freak?"

Leonardo tried lifting his head, only to find it already was. He blinked his burning eyes at Donald's pale face, not quite understanding when he had risen from the ground. Or brought his hands against the mesh of his cell door.

"Told you, the weak ones break," the brunette commented snidely from Cell F-3. "You, Chandler, Abigail, Joseph, Matthew and God knows who else at this point. You let it get to you. Not me. I'm stronger than that. I'm strong."

His scoff and crossing of arms was so much like Raphael. He paced like Raphael. Spoke in a manner similar to Raphael. Leonardo could even tell the gangster's heated words were a self-reassurance. Because it's what Raphael would do in his place. Well, if Donald was like Raphael then he should survive.

At least one of them should…Right?

"I'm getting outta here," the barbarian-like man added, still pacing. "I'm done with this shit. My arms could never heal; I don't give a fuck. I'm barreling out of here if I have to!"

Raphael would say something similar, no doubt. And Leonardo spoke due to the parallel.

"You shouldn't be hasty, Donald." His hoarse words earned him a deadly glare.

"Hasty? I've sat in here _longer_ than you, freak. It's not hasty. Even if this burn in my body never goes away, I need _out_!"

"C—could you really?" asked Kaiya in a weak voice. "Could you…get us out?"

The brunette snorted while eyeing the length of his cell. "Not you kid; you aren't attached to me. I'm getting myself out. If you punks want to try and follow, that's up to you. But I'm not responsible."

There was a slight uproar through Hall F, a murmur across the thick atmosphere that drowned out Kaiya's whimper. Leonardo didn't face the little blonde. He didn't have strength for her. Besides, if she relied on him, he'd only get her killed…

"And just how do you think the rest of us can follow if we're released one at a time?" Paige questioned incrudiously. She sat on her cot, looking unconcerned about the matter like it was only a dream.

Donald smirked her way as the doors of Hall F hissed. "Just wait…"

"Donald"—Lombardo's sickening voice sounded down the hall—"your urine sample was—"

"Apple juice?" the tall man suggested with a snigger.

The doctor stopped in front of Cell F-3, stance rigid. "I have enough problems without you sabotaging my tests!"

"Hey, you wanted it in one end and out another. I just skipped a step."

"I won't stand for this," Lombardo snapped as Melody joined her side. "You're going to re-take the test—right this time! Miss Gray."

The stoic cyborg complied without a word. Within a few beeps from a keypad, Donald's cell door unlocked, revealing a smirk no longer obscured by mesh. Melody didn't bother touching him because of past experiences and the brunette sent pointed looks around the hall before he neared the doctor, casual.

"I don't have time for your games, Horton."

"I don't think you'll have to play them any longer, _Doctor_."

Mid-turn, the carrot-top paused, asking, "What?"

"I noticed it last week," he said without facing her. "And you still keep it, don't you?"

"Keep what?"

Donald's smirk grew then he lunged behind Lombardo. From the thick waistband of her skirt, he produced a small hand gun that he immediately cocked and used on the doctor's leg. She cried shrilly after the shot resonated and fell to her knees with a sob while clenching her bleeding thigh. Melody leapt into action when the gun's barrel rose to the ceiling. Donald fired three shots—bang, bang, bang—before the cyborg tackled him to the ground, twisting the gun out of his wrist so strongly it snapped.

Sirens wailed over the pained scream of Donald and every light in the hall blinked red as water descended from the ceiling. Leo glanced at the sprinkler system and tensed as a unanimous buzz filled the walls. The cell doors from one end of the hall shook violently. Then, slid open.

Wait…was this really happening?

"Stephens!" Lombardo's voice bellowed over the new chatter of bewildered escapees. "Send Falls and Nass in here—_now_!"

It was like a stampede, watching those from the far end of Hall F clamor towards the door. Leonardo never realized how many there were. Their feet trampled Donald's fallen body when they passed and some people were beat sideways by the swipe of Melody's arm. It seemed half hearted, but Leo could've been mistaken. The cyborg still darted for the door to kick back any body that dared pass her. Broken bones must've followed, yet they collected in a swarm, each one trying again and again.

"Mister Leonardo, come on!"

Leo glanced down from the threshold of his cell, where Kaiya peered up at him with wide, golden eyes. She clung to his three-finger hand and attempted to pull him with several long tugs towards the still-passing escapees. No. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't be with him. So he retracted his hand, allowing her to fall backwards at the feet of Paige and Quill.

"M—Mister Leonardo?" she questioned, softer.

But the mutant didn't face her. He watched Donald limp off the ground, cursing as he straightened. His unnaturally bent hand was kept tight against his side, but he pushed forward like a soldier at war. Like Raphael.

"You won't stand for _our_ lack of cooperation?" the brunette chided. "Well, we won't stand for your abuse. We're done with this. You can't keep us here any longer!"

And the crowd pushed harder. A fraction splintered off to attack Lombardo while a majority joined their strengths against Melody. The number proved an advantage. She almost faltered until two more cyborgs flanked her and a man with a bushy beard bypassed the group all together.

He strolled calmly through the throngs of panicked people like the hall was a park and stopped at Donald, a chipper smile across his Indian features. "Are you the instigator of this little…revolt?" he asked without an accent.

"Who the hell are you?" the gangster asked, glaring at the short man in a lab coat.

"I'm Doctor Stephens. And I'm afraid you've disrupted the order of Halls F, G, H, I, _and_ J."

Five halls? Was that why there were so many people? And still more coming?

"Well it's a party now!" Donald remarked. "Stay out of our way, old man; we're leaving this joint!"

"Ah, well—not quite."

The brunette never passed Stephens. His white shoe lifted yet fell back into place, blood coating its top like the splattering of paint. A subtle gargling sounded in his throat, his toned body stumbling back. Stephens retracted a straight blade he suddenly produced. It was short, but when Donald twisted to fall against one cell's open door, the wound across his torso gushed like rain from a full gutter. It bubbled just as Abigail's skin had done. Stunk, too. But he was too proud to cry—just like Raph. So when the bubbling boiled like popping lava, he bit his lip so hard it bled down his tensed jaw.

"Kaiya!" Paige called from somewhere. "Don't go near the crowd!"

Crowd? The Jonin's attention drifted to the ring of people that formed around Donald and Stephens. The doctor regarded them with a grin, which fueled the atmosphere's fear. People shoved one another ahead of themselves to escape the man when he neared them like a kid playing a game of tag, and their cries of disgust and alarm drowned out anything Lombardo mentioned.

In their midst, Kaiya avoided Donald's death. Her eyes were wide and mortified, her little frame shaking so badly she barely stood. The scent of decay grew stronger the faster the poison ate the brunette's flesh and the sight drove the young girl back towards the bustling crowd.

"_Kaiya_!" Quill and Paige must've been stuck in their own crowd, as Paige's voice rose with desperation. "Kaiya, stop, they're going to—"

Oh. What should he do? Should he try? He always failed when he did. Was it worth it?

"_Kaiya_!"

The mutant stepped over the cell threshold, only to find the blonde lost in a sea of heads and white uniforms. The crowd swallowed her and judging by the way they climbed and punched on another to avoid the blade of Stephens…Well, he wasn't worthy enough as a savior anyway.

"_Kaiya_!"

Paige was filled with terror, Leo could feel it. But he didn't share it. He shared…nothing with these people. Everything familiar to him had died, right at his fingertips. Even Donald. How does one respond to that?

The mutant glanced up and down Hall F. It was silent to his ears, though chaos remained. Stephens claimed more victims. The cyborgs struggled for control. The crowds beat one another. Lombardo limped from the room. And yet none of it bothered Leonardo. It simply…was.

"_F is for 'failure'!"_

Imagine that; Donald knew the truth. And Leonardo could only laugh over his words.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes. Leo broke. I'm so sorry, Leo baby. The EPF are gaining more power and, yes, those open applications will play a role in Mikey's book. Next chapter is "Break", where Amanda is released and Mikey finds out a few things. Four reviews, people!


	27. Break

**Author's Notes:** Everyone hates Bishop. And my Bishop keeps getting worse (you have no idea yet). Meanwhile, we got nine chapters left, people. Crazy, right? :) *goes to sob in corner over Leo*  
**Warning:** Gross corpse and psychopathic Amanda ahead.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 27 - ****Break**

His glare was belittling, Hun ensured as much with minimal effort. "How long have you known of these intents, Rojo?"

The Hispanic, who led his boss down a grungy corridor, flinched. "That's…debatable."

"How so?" The giant increased his pace so the underling couldn't ignore his presence. Or irritation. "I already have enough shit to deal with. Between the influx of police activity thanks to damn Bishop and the Feds snooping around for the senator's daughter, deals have been stale. Now you tell me Little Spice has gone behind my back? You better be prepared to spill _everything_."

Whether words or blood, Hun would gain something. And Rojo knew it, too.

His head shook by Hun's large shoulder as he said, "We both know how hell-bent Spice was when it came to Project-C. She wanted to be first in line, so when Hunt and the others were chosen instead—"

"All projects must be tested on pawns first."

"I told her as much. But she didn't care. Which is why she kidnapped Doctor Marx."

"That kidnapping was her?"

"Seems there are a lot of those going around, huh?" Rojo growled, but not at his boss. If he had done that, he would've regretted it. "I didn't report her before because…I didn't think she would go through with it. When she went into hiding a week ago, I thought it was another one of her stewing periods. But, she called me a while ago…"

"And?" Hun snarled, stopping suddenly when the tan gangster twisted at a rugged, blue door.

"I swore her mind broke while talking to me," Rojo answered, grim.

He produced a simple key from a large side pocket on his loose pants and jabbed it into the round handle's lock. Hun was sure, though, that if his thick body leaned against the door it would crumble. With a grunt, Rojo swung the dilapidated thing open, where a single stream of concentrated light cut through the darkness beyond.

Its putrid smell hit Hun's nose first, before the mix of ammonia, metal shavings, and alcohol. It stung his nasal passage, but he'd endured far worse and ventured further. His heavy boots crunched over free cables, wires, syringes, torn clothes, bandages, papers—basically, anything medical. The open packages spread over the stained carpet were familiar, seeing as how a Purple Dragon shipment had been robbed of the same materials last week.

'_Damn Little Spice…_'

"Oh, shit," Rojo said across the room.

Hun faced him through the mess of mauled furniture, broken glass, ripped sheets, and crude operating areas. The putrid scent grew stronger when he neared an overturned vanity, cold eyes set on a male body lying face down in a large puddle of dried blood. Rojo hesitated before rolling the man, and when he did, one arm nearly slapped him due to its rigamortis. His kneeled form faintly shivered at the scare. Then, he proceeded under Hun's glare, revealing great trauma to the man's front.

"He doesn't have a face anymore," stated Rojo with a pinched nose, "but I bet this is Doctor Marx."

"Yes…" Eyes narrowed, Hun studied the literally bloody pulp of a face then followed the harsh stream of light to a large hole outside. "And now our Little Spice is on the run. With valuable secrets about _my_ project."

"Sir?"

"You know what I want, Rojo. Meet with Hunt. And stop her."

* * *

"Now, Mikey, make sure you're careful with that bag."

"Right, Don."

"I'm _serious_; no jerking it around."

"Okay. Okay. I got it."

"Put it in the Battle Shell then come _right_ back."

"_Donny_!"

"What?"

Michelangelo sent his purple-banded brother a look—a very pointed one that crossed the Lab like an arrow's mark. "I've been to the garage plenty of times before. Alone. Just because Bishop plans to swarm the city, doesn't mean I'll be caught."

"Yeah, but"—Donatello hesitated, pausing the furious typing at his secondary computer to grimace—"we must be more careful now."

"I'm always careful, Don," countered Mikey with a flick of his wrist.

Don soured as the youngest's hand rested against the duffle bag's long strap near his hip. "I wish I could go with you, but if we want these advanced security features operational by the time we leave, I can't break. And Raph's—"

"I know, I know. I got it covered. Trust me!" With a noisy breath, Mikey jogged backwards, a smile across his wide mouth.

"Don't bounce too much, idiot!"

"Relax. You act like I'm carrying bombs."

A long moment of silence passed.

"Wait." Michelangelo seized at the Lab's open door as his eye twitched. "_What_?"

Donatello's head shook when he returned to typing. "My latest experiments are in there, so…just be careful."

"_Bombs_? Seriously?"

"Stop; they aren't bombs."

"But you just—"

"Some stuff may be unstable. That's all. So treat the bag like glass."

May be unstable? Yeah, right. In other words, the cargo was unstable and Mikey better watch himself.

"Make sure you call when you're on your way back, okay?" the genius added, softer.

"Will do, Bro," Mikey noted while Don fell victim to work.

Eyeing the duffle bag like a rabid dog ready for attack, the orange-banded mutant zipped up his coat the furthest it could around this thick neck and left the Lab with a slight whimper. He conquered the short hall outside to the living room, where a timid mew met his ears. Grinning, Mikey squatted towards the large Oriental rug to scratch the scraggly chin of Klunk at its border. The orange tabby purred in response, leaning into the mutant's touch eagerly.

"Haven't seen you much recently, buddy," said Mikey, bittersweet.

Klunk mewed louder like one offended.

The orange-banded Chūnin met the feline's bright eyes with a solemn expression. "I know. Life's been hectic and…I'm sorry. We're gunna be busy for a bit longer. But don't worry; we'll make sure our home stays safe. You, Master Splinter, Nia, Leo, everyone—we'll keep you _all_ safe. Promise."

Another mew sounded as Klunk protested his master standing. But Mikey couldn't stop. He flashed a final smile before heading for the Lair's main entrance, where he tucked his insulated pants into the tall liner of his boots—ensuring the laces were secure—before heading into the cool sewer.

'_I can't believe we may have to leave home again,_' the youngest Hamato thought in disdain. '_Eaten by Mousers. Attacked by Foot. Can't we have a place that isn't compromised? At least once? I know it isn't a sure thing Bishop will find the Lair and Don's doing all he can to keep it under the radar, even against EPF technology. Still…if they do find it and it self-destructs like planned…we're back to square one. I hate square one!_'

Not to mention the trouble it would be avoiding New York while searching for the Little Reds' base. Sure, the Hamatos didn't plan to move yet—not until they could start tracking EPF activity as easily as they could the Foot. But now the threat loomed over their heads and they were preparing to move Splinter ahead of time. As if there wasn't enough on their shoulders already.

'_I wonder if Raph was let into Nia's house this time. She wasn't answering her Shell Cell, but if Bishop does too thorough of job…their aliases could be blown. They need warned at least_.'

The mutant sighed, halting at a tall ladder.

'_I wish Leo were here. He'd know what to say…he always does…_'

But he wasn't, so it was up to the younger brothers to fulfill his part. With a short shake of his head, Mikey ascended the gritty ladder at his fingertips to its end. In a narrow alley filled with snow, he slid the manhole cover back in place with a single foot and neared the alley's mouth cautiously.

There were no sounds, not even of traffic in the distance. So the mutant dashed across the street. That is, until a banshee scream pierced the clear sky like a Werewolf to the full moon. Only, no full moon. And no Werewolf, as far as Mikey could see. The Chūnin paused in the street's center, whirling for an answer.

He found himself face-to-face with compact car. Well, half of one. It descended with a loud crunch and ground against the asphalt inches from Michelangelo's body, and he back-flipped to keep its jagged edges from ripping holes in his clothes. He landed on its highest point, eyes wide as its second half sailed his way.

"Oh, come on!" he cried, seeking refuge on a rusted lamppost's head. It groaned beneath his weight, swaying, but held fast as he watched the car's second half fracture large sections of the ruined road in its wicked spin. "Holy…Where did that…_Seriously_?"

He felt like crying in frustration. A creature approached from the road's end—a cyborg. However, she closely resembled a zombie instead. The gentle light of the moon's last quarter outlined her slender form with an unearthly glow. It morbidly highlighted the short red hair that fell into her wide eyes and the blood coating her mostly-naked body as if she had bathed in it. Her legs carried her with stiffness, not fluency. And the crafted metal across half her face, over her arms, and part of his torso, looked crude enough that Mikey suspected it had been shaped with a common sledgehammer.

'_Okay, so we've moved onto Sci-Fi Horror, I see._'

"I'll show 'em," the cyborg said, hoarse and indignant. Her long, mechanical arms swayed like noodles as she leaned forward. Then, her half-human gaze landed on Mikey, widening. "_Hun_!"

"Dudette"—Michelangelo's arms raised at her hiss—"I'm not _near_ fat enough to be Hun. Thanks. But if you'd like to make a formal complain to him, I'd be happy to—"

"Hun!" she bellowed as a foot dug into the asphalt like mud. The force pushed her forward with a speed Mikey didn't expect, and he barely twisted to avoid the treacherous arms that pounded into the compressed car behind him. "Not worthy? I'm worthy! I deserve the power! Me!"

The redhead wasn't thinking straight, obviously, and she smelled like rotten meat. So Mikey backed away from her aggression. He slipped the duffle bag off his shoulder then tucked it into the snowy alley before he faced the cyborg again. By that time, the (halved) car rested in several mangled pieces on the road, her crazed gaze set on him.

"Look," Mikey started while backing up again, "you have some issues with Hun. I get that. Lots of people do. So, maybe you should go find him and sort things out. What do you say?"

"Hun lie," she countered with a snarl. "You. Hun. Lie!"

"Like I said, I ain't Hun, Dudette. Now why don't we find you a nice hospital and—"

"Michelangelo, duck!"

Was that Hugh's voice? The Chūnin didn't get a chance to confirm, as a dull pressure pushed his head against the rough road in an instant. There was a whirling noise that preceded a high-pitched hum. The snow by Mikey's face melted at a fierce heat, which engulfed his body like a sudden sauna. It lasted only a moment, and when winter's bite returned, the mutant felt someone lift him by the arm and pull him into a dash.

"Hugh!" he called, partly-glaring at the detective's intense profile. "What are you doing here?"

"Chaperoning Miss Hall!" Hugh countered as the mutant took back his arm.

"Miss who?"

"Little Miss Cyborg over there." The man's long finger pointed at the redhead, who breathed heavily on the street's other side while bent over. Her arm was poised as if handling a gun, with her palm outstretched towards a gaping hole in a brick building crumbling with smoke. "Amanda Hall was one of the PDs arrested after April's kidnap. She broke out of jail with her boyfriend in September, now she's…"

Mikey cleared his throat as the cyborg's arm fell. "Was that…a plasma gun?"

"I guess?"

"The answer is yes. How long have you been following her?"

"A while. I've been luring her into less populated areas since she started making a scene in Midtown. I don't want the EPF involved, but at this rate…How durable are you?"

"Is that a turtle jab?"

The man huffed when Mikey pouted, preparing for another counterattack. "No, that's a serious question."

"I know I'm awesome. But just because I have a shell doesn't mean—"

Swish! Crisp, precise, a fraction of the dismantled car cut through the chill air like bullet. Michelangelo's first instant was to dodge. Unfortunately, he knew Hugh wouldn't be fast enough to do likewise. So, frowning deeply, he lunged towards the tall detective, brought the man's head to his plastron, and twisted his carapace towards the projectile. It hit with such power that the males were sent sliding across the sidewalk. And for a long moment, the mutant couldn't breathe.

"See?" Hugh asked, shaky, while leaving Mikey's hold. "You _are_ durable."

"So?" Mikey wheezed like a little girl because of an intense burn in his back. "It still hurts like hell."

"We need to find equal ground with her," the man added when he stood.

Rolling onto his stinging shoulder, the Chūnin said, "Have you shot at her yet?"

"I did."

"How much?"

"What was left of my rounds. She won't stop."

"Like a machine."

"Yeah."

Dammit. Michelangelo forced himself up with a hiss and reached into his jacket pocket. Amanda seemed busied by a conversation with herself, so he quickly flipped his Shell Cell open and pushed speed-dial four.

Hugh sent a quizzical look as the line rang. "What…Who are you calling?"

"Our resident smart-guy," Mikey countered with a smile.

The smile was short-lived, though. Amanda's one-sided conversation ended with a banshee scream that threatened the integrity of the only working lamppost. She snarled into the air then charged the duo.

"Here, Hugh, distract her for a while." Pushing the man ahead of him, Mikey nimbly headed for the street's other side.

"I've _been_ doing that!" Hugh countered, choleric. But he complied and continued his game of death-tag with the cyborg. Gunless.

"Hey, Mikey, you on your way back?" Donatello questioned over the line.

In turn, Mikey released a little squeak as a bent hubcap imbedded into the brick wall beside him like butter. "A—actually, I have a question," he noted while dodging a stray tire and debris from the building's fresh wound. "Would you be upset if I threw your duffle bag at a raging cyborg?"

"A _what_?" Don's voice rose with surprise and fear. It didn't settle when he continued. "Who?"

"Relax; I wouldn't suggest blowing up you girlfriend. I'd just like to know if—_ei_!" The nunchaku master jumped high when a mangled bumper neared his feet and he frowned as Hugh scrambled for balance in the street.

"_Mikey_?"

Mikey pushed the phone closer against his face, frowning. "Okay, serious, Don! If I throw it, will it stop her?"

"Yeah, but don't!"

"Why not?"

"I have valuable things in there!"

"So how are Hugh and I supposed to get this chick under control? It's like the Terminator out here!"

"Hugh's there?"

"Yes, and he's out of bullets. So if there's _anything_ in your bag then—"

"What cyborg is she?"

Mikey paused when he entered the alley. "What?"

"Is it Tabitha?"

"No! She's one we haven't seen before and…I don't think she's affiliated with them either. The work to her body looks…homemade. In the bad way."

"Then it could work…"

"What could?"

Don groaned over the phone—a clear mark of how frustrated he felt over not being present. "Go to the duffle bag, which I hope you're keeping out of the fight, and find the shock grenades."

"Shock grenades?" Kneeling into the snow, Mikey unzipped the large bag and peered inside.

"They're slender ovals," the genius added while his younger brother shifted through a plethora of containers, papers, and blood work?

The orange-banded mutant knitted his eyes ridges together as he read the label on the long vile. Master Splinter? When did Splinter get his blood drawn? And for what?

"Mikey! Have you found them?"

"Ah, not yet!" After returning the vile, Mikey dug towards the bag's flat bottom. There, his fingers brushed against the smooth surface of a few metal objects. He unburied them with both hands then studied the glowing veins across their sides critically. "Alright, got 'em. I think."

"Now listen carefully. They're fragile. And experimental."

"Oh, so _these_ were the bombs."

"Not bombs." Obviously, the 'incorrect' term irked the genius.

"So what do I do with them?"

"Toss them at the cyborg, but keep a great distance. The grenade is meant to shoot barbed streams of wire like a confetti popper and send a high volt of electricity so long as the cell lives."

"That sounds handy."

There was a pause.

"Donny?"

"Make sure you don't shake them before the toss. Their power cells are a prototype and _may_ have a chemical imbalance."

"So they could explode?"

"Like a soda can."

"Eh, can't have things too easy, can we?"

"I'm on my way now, so—"

"Okay, I gotta go now; Hugh's down!"

Michelangelo abandoned his phone in its entirety in the alley and swiftly darted down the road. He kept his movements from shaking—except when Amanda raised a metal hand above the fallen Hugh's head, panic abandoned the shock grenades in the road. The mutant unsheathed one nunchaku, snapped it around the detective's suspended foot, and pinched the handles together as he roughly pulled Hugh across the street. Yeah, the human earned a bit of road rash. But at least his head wasn't smashed.

"Damn!" Hugh said with a glare from the ground.

Mikey helped him up, smirking. "Now we're even."

"Yeah, sure. What'd Donatello say?"

"Oh!" The Chūnin twirled then squatted to pick up the shock grenades like they would bite. "Don said to use these."

"What are they?" Gingerly, the detective lifted one after Mikey stood.

"He called them shock grenades."

"Will they help?"

"They should. Or, ya know"—Mikey slyly averted his gaze to Amanda—"explode in our faces."

"_What_?" Hugh cried almost as loud as Don had been. He meant to push the object back in the mutant's arms, but Mikey side-stepped him.

"Just don't shake it and you'll be fine. I think."

"Does your brother usually sit around and invent things like this?"

"Nah. Sometimes, they're really dangerous."

Michelangelo could physically feel the detective deadpan and he smiled.

"Hun!" Amanda roared from yards away. This time, she sounded less coherent and her sluggish movements grew stiffer with every heavy breath she took. Still, she raised her tan face behind wild red locks, organic eye bloodshot with emotion. "I have a _right_ to Project-C. I earned my place there before Hunt. _Before_! The deal"—here, she paused to gulp and stagger forward—"I helped with the deal. You only knew of Black Lotus because of _me_!"

"Black Lotus?" Mikey questioned under his breath.

"Whose Hunt?" Hugh asked while back-stepping in unison with the mutant.

"Yet another cyborg. Goon of Hun."

"I see"—the man's voice turned stony—"Project-C must deal with cyborgs then. If that's the case…"

"Black Lotus is the head of it all."

'_The head. The mastermind. If they are then,_' Mikey felt the oxygen burn up in his lungs, '_Leo could be with them!_'

"Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble," Amanda added like speaking with enraging younger sibling. Her arms swayed then tensed as her bloody figure shook. "Trouble with Doctor Marx. Trouble with that girl and the power cell. It wasn't right, he said. Told me it would poison my mind. But it didn't. I'm freer now than ever."

"What is she talking about?" Hugh noted, strained.

Yet Mikey felt a sense of rage fill him with fire. It burned in his muscles, rousing a deep growl he hardly felt.

"Michelangelo?"

The mutant wouldn't face the human and instead narrowed his eyes at the approaching cyborg. He raised a shock grenade—no longer frightened of its possible combustion—and tossed it harshly. It clanked against the torn asphalt in a display of sparks before it blossomed, awakening vibrant displays of light that danced around several pluming strings. The strings dug into Amanda's red skin like shrapnel and its resulting currents convulsed her body.

No. He didn't wait for the cell to drain before throwing another. And another. They both hit the ground with louder clanks, yet only one blossomed, following its predecessor. The other exploded into a bright display of lights and sound. Its blast wave expended violently—not quite knocking the two men over, but unbalancing them as Mikey reached for the shock grenade in Hugh's hand.

"Michelangelo, I think that's enough!" Hugh screamed, though his words sounded muffled.

"It's not enough"—the mutant's three fingers reached for the high-held grenade—"not until her bones break! _She's_ the one who put Nia in the hospital! She won't get away with that!"

"Wait…When was Nia in the hospital?"

Hugh's hesitation caused an opening. Mikey snatched the grenade and immediately tossed it. It was caught, though, by a hand—thick like a gauntlet and made of smooth-crafted metal. The hand crushed it like a soda can then quickly threw it in the air, where it exploded above their heads.

'_Great, we needed more cyborgs on the scene_,' Michelangelo thought with a sneer.

"We'll be taking things from here, turtle freak," Hunt said.

"We?" asked Mikey.

"Amanda." Calm, distant, the voice didn't sound like a gangster. But when the orange-banded Chūnin eyed the Hispanic walking behind Hunt's large silhouette, he immediately noted the Purple Dragon emblem advertised on his shirt. "What…what have you done to yourself?"

The female cyborg grinned in return, giggling like schoolgirl in spite of the active barbs. "Power. I am power."

"I beg to differ," remarked Hunt as he slowly faced the duo.

"Wait"—Hugh stepped away from the sidewalk curb—"What do you boys plan to do?"

"What we're meant for, old man."

Hugh paused. "Old man?"

The orange-haired cyborg bellowed a mean laugh while pushing Rojo out of the way. "I hope you haven't said too much, Little Spice. You're still my teacher, after all. I wouldn't want to—"

"Unworthy!" the redhead retorted in a battle cry. Metal wires still attached, she charged.

Rojo attempted to buffer her, only her shoulder shoved him against the sidewalk like a linebacker. Her slender form continued its advance until it met Hunt, the connected grenades sizzling as their energy died. Both her arms drew back for a punch and they propelled forward with a power that created noise. Hunt captured her fists with a haughty smirk, a chuckle in his throat.

"You are known to do things the hard way," he noted before pushing her back.

She reeled at the counter and in that brief moment, Hunt brought a fist across her face. She flew down the road before crashing into it like a meteorite, her body and metal strings flailing every which way in the debris. Rojo growled indignantly from the sidelines, yet went ignored while the taller cyborg meandered down the road—like he was enjoying himself.

"Damn it," Hugh whispered, rigid. "We can't stop this. Not even those grenades…"

Michelangelo sent him a half-hearted smile and reached for his nunchaku. "Lesson one-oh-one about fighting with a Hamato and company: we face goliaths with a positive attitude."

"You don't mean to suggest—"

"He doesn't," a new voice interjected.

Mikey faced the newcomer in seconds. "Donny!"

Donatello glowered, directing his chin towards the rooftops. "We have to go. _Now_."

"But, they—"

The genius flashed a severe look before plucking Hugh off the road and tossing him over his shoulder. The human cried in surprise, but didn't fight, as Don was already part-way up a fire escape. Mikey frowned after them, but followed until the three stood on a short building.

"Well, that was more terrifying than any roller coaster I've ever been on," Hugh remarked, his body trembling slightly.

Donatello waved him down, eyeing the end of the road.

"What's going on?" Mikey asked as he joined the two.

Several shrill pings answered him. Plasma guns. The youngest Hamato paled while watching a swarm of EPF soldiers march towards the trio, shooting their large guns at the cyborgs like target practice. Two armored NYPD vans blocked the road's ends, and police exited from them. Soon, all three Purple Dragon members were grounded by over two dozen men and women. Some shots must've been sedatives because the cyborgs didn't fight as strongly as before and they didn't talk—their heads dropping.

"There's no sign of the reported black man, Agent Bishop Sir," one soldier said over a radio on his uniform. He neared the building Mikey peered over and watched his team transport the PDs. "We captured two others, though: a Hispanic male and another cyborg."

"Another one?" Bishop said over the line. He didn't sound surprised, but rather amused.

"Yes, Sir. What should we do about the damage?"

"What is around you?"

"Uh"—the soldier glanced all around—"abandoned stuff, mostly."

"Abandoned, huh?"

A shiver wracked Michelangelo's spine just at Bishop's tone.

"Should we process the area?"

"Yes. Everything along that road and before—wherever the girl has been. There could be clues anywhere."

"Wait"—Mikey felt naked in the cold at the thought—"if they do that, they'll find the garage."

"It—it's clearly personalized," started Don as if punched in the throat, "but we made sure keep out anything valuable. The duffle back isn't there, right?"

The orange-banded mutant met his brother's gaze uneasily.

"You mean _that_ duffle bag?" Hugh asked, bland.

Mikey's face grew flush at the panic in Donatello's wide brown eyes. The genius whipped his head towards the ledge until he spotted a small crowd of police, who unanimously glanced into the bag.

"Great, just great!" Don hissed through gritted teeth. "Can this get any worse."

The younger brother took a side-step before saying, "My Shell Cell was in there."

Cue the long line of heated, mixed-language curses and silent assault against the old roof. The soldier's conversation with Bishop ended before Donatello regained control, though Mikey was too preoccupied with a thought to listen anyway.

"There is some good news," he said to the purple-banded mutant that glared scornfully.

"Yeah? What's that?"

Slowly, a little optimism worked his wide mouth into a grim smile. "I think I know who has Leo."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So much in this chapter, man. I will say I love me a Hugh and Mikey tag team. Next up is "Operation: Save Leo", though it likely won't end how you expect. Give me four reviews and find out. ;)


	28. Operation: Save Leo

**Author's Notes:** Love you, Big Six!  
Feather, I forgot to say that I'm so GLAD you're a fan of Hugh. And his sass. And I agree, there _should_ be more Hugh 'n Mikey team-ups. ;)  
Duckie, you know Amanda's your favorite. ROFL  
D'Fuentes, you're welcome. The whole point of my series is to try new things or put a spin on old ones. I read one fanfic years ago that involved a cyborg love interest, and it sparked Mel-mainly because I was confused on how the character could be a cyborg one chapter and never seen as one after her rescue. I thought "They could live with one. What's wrong with that?" Because, face it, your don't go back from being a cyborg. XD  
Raven, we all want Leo home. :(  
**Warning:** Screams ahead...  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 28 - ****Operation: Save Leo**

Hugh loathed enduring Gavin's voice—that callous, condescending tone. It was always worse in stressful situations and, well, there hadn't been any other kinds of situations recently. The detective sighed silently, pacing in his clean living room while Marina watched Channel Six News from the couch.

"You think that's going to help?" Hugh asked, soft so his wife didn't sense stress.

"I can take care of my family, Reese," Gavin countered.

"Hey, I want you all safe. That's why I called. Raphael couldn't get a hold of you, though you were apparently in the hospital room the whole time."

"No one here wants to see"—the redhead paused like he needed to choose another word—"_him_. Hospitals are a sanctuary. Even if the EPF arrives with the police, there's only so much ground they can cover. Nia and I can hide here."

"And if they find Mia?"

"Chances are remote. Bishop can't fine-comb this city personally and I highly doubt his men know her face or the fact her name's been changed. Besides, she and I were released unharmed. _We_ aren't the ones who have to worry…"

"Still"—Hugh frowned as he stopped at a sliding window that overlooked his sun-lit neighborhood and an unsavory billboard about the EPF—"you should consider getting Nia out of the city. When she's stressed—"

There was a brusque scoff over the phone line. "I'll handle things, Reese! My wife can't be moved and I won't leave her."

"But a hospital coupled with Nia's current…state?"

"She's _controlled_."

"No offence, _Anders_, but you once thought Nia was controlled. Then she shutdown a great part of Manhattan!"

Gavin didn't retort. He growled, probably with a sneer, and ended the call suddenly. Hugh brought the phone from his ear, glaring at the alias name on its flat screen. It was replaced by a second notice over it—a missed call from Jezebel. A slight shake in his long limbs blurred the graphics, so the detective tore his eyes from it before he stuffed it into his slacks' pocket with a frustrated groan.

"Are you going to explain what's going on or not?" Marina questioned, casual from the long couch.

Hugh wasn't fooled by the tone; he knew his wife was livid. He crossed the room and joined her, elbows on his bony knees as he faced the television. May Fields stood with a hand-held microphone in a familiar place that chilled the man's insides. And he froze while she pointed at a cluster of EPF and New York police behind taped off areas.

"As you can see," May reported, "Bishop's EPF has been working with city police since late last night to investigate every area the rampaging woman affected—from Midtown to West Village. Cell phone footage from local residents shows unbelievable feats of super strength and, what the EPF confirm as, a plasma weapon. People are questioning if this captured woman—Amanda Hall—is, in fact, this year's Hallows Eve Demon. However—"

The television shut off, courtesy of Hugh and his angry thumb. He felt his teeth grit when the remote dropped onto the glass coffee table, yet it eased once Marina's soft hand found his.

"That was you, wasn't it?" the tanned woman inquired with pressed, dark lips. "You're the one who led her towards the industrial area."

Hugh opened his mouth to deny. The attempt proved useless.

"_Don't_ lie, Hugh! I'm too tired for lies."

Sucking in shallow breath, the man paused then nodded, grim.

"Damn, Hugh. Why do you—?" The grip tightened on Hugh's hand as the wife's voice wavered. "That's why you got home so late. And why you're covered in those bruises."

"Someone had to help."

"Then why didn't you stay for backup?"

"That"—the husband cringed then sent a fake smile—"is difficult."

"Everything with you is difficult. When is something finally going to be simple?"

"Would you have married me if I were simple?"

"Some days, I wonder why I married you at all…"

No, she didn't mean that as a joke. And it sunk Hugh's teasing grin.

"Seriously, Hugh," she said in a voice low with exhaustion. "There are days where I feel like a stranger is holding me. You used to share everything, but not anymore. You've taken so much on your shoulders, and you—you won't let me carry it with you because you value your _secrets_ more."

"_No_." The man found his way to the carpet in moments, his hands gripping tightly to his wife's clenched fingers in her lap. Her glossy brown eyes regarded him coldly from above, yet he met them with no fear, only pity. "Believe me, Rina. I want to share it all with you. Every bit. But I—I can't."

"Of course not." Marina turned away and tried to remove her hands.

Hugh gripped them tighter, though. "I would love to scream around the apartment and tell you, Blaine, and Jennifer, even Megan, everything I know. I'd love for us to be on the same page. But that's not possible…not yet."

She side-glanced from her defiant position at the end of his sentence —his small trace of hope.

"They're growing into exceptional friends of mine, Rina, and I would love for you to meet them. When the time is right."

"And when will the time be right?" the tan beauty questioned like a queen on her throne.

Hugh met her glare with a genuine smile. "Only they can say. But for now, they need my help. Yours, too."

"Mine?"

"Bishop's been encroaching on this city. And it's put my friends in danger. They need a place to go, just for a little bit."

His eyes bore into her. At first, she sat rigid, confused, but after a moment of silence, the dark-skin man registered a glint of realization behind her heated gaze.

"My parents' cottage outside the city?"

Hugh nodded.

"You expect me to just _hand_ the key over?"

Drawing Marina's tensed arms towards his beating chest, the husband leaned into his wife so their eyes were level. A snarl indicated she hated the proximity, yet he held fast against her struggle, saying,

"It's temporary. Your parents will never know they were there. They need a close place outside Bishop's new jurisdiction granted by the stupid Commissioner. If they don't…if they're found…if…"

How could he explain without giving anything away? He found his lips were looser under Marina's wounded gaze and felt he could slip at any time.

"This is life or death for them, isn't it?" Clever—just like Marina. She spoke her words with certainty; though Hugh's uncontrolled expression no doubt cemented her deduction.

He steeled his voice and said, "Yes. For them and everything they love. _Please_."

"I guess…I can't risk someone's life, no matter how mad I am at you."

She was still mad? Well, guess that was to be expected. Hugh smiled in thanks anyway before landing a tender kiss on the woman's wrinkled forehead. She huffed lightly in response, but didn't reciprocate. So when their eyes connected as he pulled away, he immediately leaned back in. The couple's lips hardly touched, though, when a repetitive bang against the front door drew Hugh to his feet.

"They're going to wake up Megan and her parents," Marina snapped in concern.

"I got it, Rina," said Hugh softly.

He passed through the living room's wide archway into the contemporary -style kitchen. There, a bamboo staircase created the east wall and lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second story. He twisted left at it then followed a narrow hall that the stairs ended at as more bangs sounded. They grew more urgent before he reached the three-paned front door and when he swung it open in annoyance, words caught in his throat.

Standing on the stoop, Jezebel Summers pulled her leather coat tighter while fidgeting in the snow. "Hey," she greeted in a tone unlike the norm.

"Jez." He sounded breathless. "I was wondering when we'd get to speak. What's going on?"

Her tired, green eyes blinked at Hugh's confused expression then she croaked, "I need to speak with you…about Miriam."

* * *

The Black Lotus Organization—pioneers of genetic research and biotechnology. Their slogan? "We bloom in the darkness then rise as an unexpected beauty." In hindsight, could it of been more obvious? Of course, the company was smart enough to order a hit on themselves, to avoid suspicion. But Raphael knew the truth now. So he, his brothers, and their friend Angel stood like soldiers on the snowy ledge of an office building opposing the company's New York headquarters.

The looming skyscraper felt as ominous as the Foot Tower—with its high-arched windows and jagged, lifeless architecture against the cloudy night horizon. Maybe that was because Leonardo was a prisoner inside its walls. Well, Raph sought to fix that mistake tonight. At least there was one mistake he could tend to…

"Yeah, really; Operation Save Leo is a go!" Mikey said into Don's Shell Cell. He paused when Raph side-glanced his way then partly turned. "We'll call you as soon as we get Leo home. Promise. Oh? …A—are you sure? It could be…I know. Okay. We will. Alright, bye, Nia."

The call ended with a pit in the hothead's stomach. Part of him wanted to know about it, but when Mikey shrugged while placing the phone in his pocket, Raph determined he hadn't been asked about like momentarily thought.

"What's security look like, Donny?" he asked instead. With a sigh, he gripped the hilts of his twin sai and buried his mouth into his scarf.

The genius struck a few more keys on his minicomputer, saying, "Scans show they're quite substantial, but nothing we haven't conquered. The building's set to sense heat signatures on the outside, so if I radiate a jamming signal that blocks its sensor long enough for us to enter, that's one hurdle down."

"What about the inside?" Angel asked while scowling on Don's left.

"A few security feeds. Laser grids in select areas. Other stuff…I'll map the most efficient route from schematics."

"You always do, Don," Mikey remarked timidly from the line's end. He received nothing more than a glare from the purple-banded Chūnin.

"Oh, burn," said Angel with a coy smirk.

The youngest Hamato grimaced. "Come on, Donny. How long will you be mad at me?"

"Until my stuff's returned. There are things in there that…" Sighing, Donatello tapped his computer harshly. "You have no idea, Mikey."

"I just might," Mikey countered, now solemn.

Raphael glanced between the brothers at his sides. "Didn't Reese mention something about gettin' the stuff back from evidence?"

"He did," Don answered, matter-of-fact. "He said he has friends that could help, but it's a lot to ask. He could lose his job, land in prison. I don't…I'm upset he needs to go to such lengths in the _first place_."

"Sorry, but I was a little busy with a cyborg," the orange-banded mutant snapped. A guilty tinge tainted his words, though, like vinegar.

"Hey, let's be thankful it's in NYPD hands before the EPF," added Angel, kicking snow off the building's edge.

Don's head shook. "He still has a small window of opportunity."

"But one nonetheless, right?" The human smiled when the genius graced her with a look.

"Are ya done routin' yet, Donny?" Raphael interjected, loosening his coat so his moves weren't restricted.

"Yeah."

One simple word held the weight of the world. Raph met the eyes of those around him, steeled by determination. They nodded in turn and prepared themselves as well

"Don, ya should lead the way," said Raph as he rolled his shoulders.

Made sense if the turtle who planned the route led, right? The others must've thought similar because none of them protested. They waited for the genius's first move. Then, when he started to cross the street, they followed with the stealth of, well, ninja.

Raphael trusted Donatello had already sent the jamming signal, so when the group abandoned a bundle of telephone lines to grip the outer edge of a high story, he felt confident no alarms were tripped. Silent, the hothead glanced at his right, where Donatello produced shuko from his unzipped jacket. Raph did likewise—pulling shoku from his own jacket and keeping behind his purple-banded brother. He scaled the building's textured areas around the many windows before the group reached mid-way.

Don hung by a particularly wide window with his head pressed against it. From a pack on his belt, he handled a strange, circular object, which resembled a mini fire alarm. With one finger, he scrolled a dial on its side then placed it against the glass while pushing a button. Seven beeps sounded before Don placed the device back in his pouch and lifted the unlocked window.

"Number of perfection," Don said over his shoulder. He eased into the room without fear, leaving the others to follow suit.

Inside was a large office with minimal plant life and rich, leathery furniture that scented the air. It should've felt warm, being out of the weather, except its atmosphere held a heavy chill Raphael couldn't escape. His amber eyes wearily glanced around as he neared his brother at a modern computer desk.

"What's next, Donny?"

"Patience," the genius countered while typing away furiously.

"Leo's been waitin' eighteen days. Think that's patient enough."

"This is the CEO's office. You would think her security features would be located in a separate department, but, apparently, she doesn't trust anyone else. So if I can just find…the…settings….ha!" With a triumphant grin, Donatello met his group. "All security is now shut off. We need only watch for guards now. Or overnight employees."

"And how many of those are posted?"

The genius gave a sloppy shrug to Michelangelo. "I don't know; they weren't in the schematics."

"What about the security footage?" Angel asked.

"Looped," Don added. "And I set the security on a timer, so we only have a few minutes before it kicks back in."

"Then _why_ are we still sittin' here?" Raph questioned with a snarl.

Don sent him a look. "We'll take the elevators to the basement floor. That's where the schematics are hazy."

"Then let's go!"

Raph didn't wait for Don to take the lead this time. Finding a couple of stupid elevators should be simple enough, and he stalked the halls outside the office in search of one. There was a close encounter with a guard on break, but the elevators beyond the over-weight human supposedly were restricted anyway. Said Don. So the group fell behind the genius after all, as he led them to a secluded corner with a single elevator.

Foreboding. But the Hamatos lived for foreboding. The group of four barely fit in the slim space before Mikey eagerly hit the basement button. Then, came the wait. Raph hated waiting. His boot tapped against the floor over and over until a soft ding rung out. The doors slid open all too slowly and the hothead burst from them in seconds, sais ready for combat.

Only, he found nothing to challenge him.

"Dude, it's like a giant warehouse," Mikey said. His voice echoed off the room of concrete that could house a small village and confirmed no one else was present.

The red-banded mutant kept his guard up out of instinct. However, the need for it grew less vindicated the further he traveled. The lifeless place resembled the floor of toddler—machines, crates, and other such toys littered everywhere without thought. The industrial lights from high above brought Raph to a cluster of crates stacked taller than him. They were labeled with a radiation warning that seemed out of place.

'_Shouldn't a shipment like this be catalogued better? What kind 'a radioactive material comes from South America anyway?_'

"Hey, this is the missing subatomic particle disruptor from KALTek!" Don said a ways off.

"And this giant, round thing has Erudio Laboratories' name on it—literally!" added Mikey from another direction.

"These are obviously the heisted materials from the Little Red Robberies," Angel said from somewhere closer.

"So we got the right guys!" Raph shouted in return. He couldn't keep panic from his tone, though—not while the ends of the basement looked so empty. "This means there's a door somewhere, right, Donny? There's another floor or—or passages, right?" Breathing grew difficult when the hothead stumbled for the closest wall, his trembling fingertips feeling for anything abnormal. "_Tell me_ there's a door somewhere!"

"No"—Don's pained voice barely carried—"this is physically all they can build in such a spot. This is…it…"

Raph hands gripped the wall before he beat it with a frustrated growl. "If this is it then…where's Fearless?"

* * *

The room spun Leonardo's vision. Or, maybe his vision spun the room. It was so hard to tell. He couldn't recall how he wound up strapped to a gurney or table. Last he recalled, he stood in chaos within Hall F…

"My, you are a sensitive one, aren't you?" The voice sounded garbled as if underwater and it seemed to dance around the mutant's senses.

Leo's unfocused eyes left the white light above him to glance beside the table. There, clouded by the light's intense glare, a short man with wild facial hair touched the Jonin's arm, though the contact couldn't be felt.

"Not even ten milligrams and, wow." The man chuckled then paused, running an unfelt hand over the mutant's bicep. "Oh, I've been dying to study you ever since Squad Five brought you back. It was unfortunate Lombardo claimed you, but…now that she's been suspended, we'll have time together. Isn't that exciting?"

No. Then again, Leonardo couldn't remember what excitement felt like. There was only numbness.

"Doc—Master Stephens," a new voice interjected across the stark-white room. It was vaguely familiar. "Doctor Lombardo and I talked about this matter before Donald's revolt. Recro-12 needs more time in animal trials. The IgR—"

"Is unstable, incompatible—a tricky, tricky little alien bug that needs dissected."

"Right."

"And yet the two of you also agreed that younger cells are more receptive to it. And the beast's cells are hyper-sensitive compared to a human adult male, correct?"

There was a long pause before the second voice added, "Even so, performing this test on him and the girl could risk _valuable_ resources."

"Experimental science is risk, Melody!" Stephens' whimsy fell victim to impatience, but only for a moment. "Don't fret; Recro-12 will suit them beautifully. Now, if you could insert and secure the gag sticks? We wouldn't want them to bite and swallow their tongues, would we?"

Them? Leonardo wasn't the only one? Lazily, his head lolled sideways as someone approached his table. Through the over-contrasted haze of semi-consciousness, he saw Kaiya strapped to a table beside him. Her blonde hair was drawn back, her pale body marked with deep purple spots from the riot. She shivered madly against the cold metal with intravenous lines protruding from her little arms.

Yet Leo found comfort in the sight because…she survived the crowd.

Something was forced into his mouth by metal fingers—a semi-soft material like a mouth guard. He paid it little mind, though, as his focus drew Kaiya's attention. She faced him just before the cyborg gagged her as well, tying the object at the back of her head before disappearing. Her golden eyes were as wide as they had been at Donald's death and they glistened with tears of pure fright.

Pain replaced numbness as her chapped lips trembled. She clearly wanted to speak through the gag, but lacked either energy or skill. Her hand twitched at her side instead. Short fingers reached for him at an awkward angle, straining desperately no matter how well she knew he couldn't be reached. He studied them with a heavy heart and when her pitiful sobs increased, his reached for her as well—their fingers mere inches from one another.

"Now"—Stephens' voice quickened Leonardo's pulse—"time for science!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Or, in my beta's words "TIME TO DIE, OLD MAN!" Right company, wrong place. And now Stephens takes the reins from Lombardo thanks to that dumbass Donald. *heads for bunker* Next, "Miriam", in which the answer to Hun's missing people and Stephens' influx of live subjects is explained. Also, a certain rat and cop finally meet. ;) Do I need to mention the reviews? LOL


	29. Miriam

**Author's Notes:** Big Six, love. *hugs* Sorry this chapter's so delayed, guys. I got real sick. Still feel crappy, but at least I can breath.  
luke, that's fine. Left it because it was funny. I think of "She blinded me...with science!"  
D'Fuentes, dragon, and raven, nope, not good at all. I cried for those poor things.  
Duckie, I think Hugh runs on luck. It's a wonder he's still married and has a job. ROFL. Love him. And his crew. ;)  
Feather, like Nia hasn't had enough worry already. SMH. Speaking of, make sure you have a stress ball near by; you'll need it more often from here on out.  
**Warning:** Melody cursing.  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 29 - ****Miriam**

Caught? All three? Hun hardly had the control to keep his rage from breaking the bones of the messenger who delivered such news. There was no use in diminishing his already small numbers, right? No matter how infuriating it was to know Bishop now held Little Spice, Hunt, and Rojo in custody. Three valuable members of Project-C. Three liabilities. If the GPS in Hunt hadn't been jammed, the Purple Dragon leader could've sent a recovery team. But since it was…

'_Dammit. This assault on my gang will stop! I may be trackless against Bishop for now; that won't last. I'll focus on the kidnappings first. The trap Switchblade and Pierce set went into effect last night, so they should—_'

"Master Hun."

Hun's head lifted from its bent position above his office desk, as if drawn by the crisp voice. His cool gaze met that of a slender blonde with full, wavy hair and metal along his square cheeks. The giant quirked an eyebrow at how the smaller blonde stood with excitement—a metallic hand on the office door's knob and the other party outstretched.

"You have good news, Switchblade?"

A smile grew across Switchblade's strong mouth, pushing the flesh around his lips over the metal's edge. "The trap was successful."

Instantly, Hun straightened from his desk. "You caught him?"

"Yes, Sir, but…"

"But?"

"Well—"

"Tell me who he is!" Hun bellowed while rounding the furniture. He stalked towards the cyborg then stood tall before him.

"He is actually a she, Sir," Switchblade sputtered while enduring his boss's intense glare. "And…her name is Miriam."

* * *

Splinter ached. His muscles, his bones, his heart, and everything in between. It made sleeping difficult, though a subtle hum must've lured him for a few minutes in the rental van. Apparently. With an uneasy sigh, the wizened rat straightened in his seat by a closed off window and tightened his kimono. Then, his head craned in the darkness, towards the other passengers on the left.

Their forms were lit only when the headlights of opposing traffic passed through the windshield, but Splinter saw them clearly. His three sons. The van's bench seats made for easier travel, yet they were still separated. Donatello sat with Michelangelo in the far back, their heads leaning against one another as they snored lightly. Raphael, who sat beside Splinter, slumped in his seat with his naked head lolled against the short headrest. His snoring was the loudest, and it caused the father to chuckle.

"You awake, Mister Splinter?" a man called from the driver's seat.

Splinter's tail twitched against the van's carpet in instinct before he remembered the detective that escorted them. "Oh, yes, Reese-san. Forgive my inconsiderate—"

"It's fine," Hugh interjected. Momentarily, the rearview mirror reflected the man's dark eyes then his smile. "Everyone's going through a lot and rest is necessary. Besides, save from digesting your existence too, I…I heard from April how stiff your joints are. I imagine the cold front hasn't helped in the least."

"O'Neil-san talks about me?" Splinter asked with the smallest of grins.

Hugh chuckled, easy, while conquering the long, black road sprinkled with snow. "Don't worry; it's all good stuff. Honestly? I've wanted to meet you in general. I'm just sorry it's not under better circumstances."

"As am I, Reese-san," the furry mutant grumbled. Bushy brows furrowed, he sought his cane and when he found it, he placed it between his legs so his hands had something to rest on. And grip.

"It feels like everything's gone to shit recently…er, sorry, Sir I'm just—"

"No; your views are not unjustified. I sympathize with you, in fact. It seems grim circumstances haunt my sons. When they climb out of one hole, a force shoves them back, deeper. I cannot help fearing one of them might…break."

"You have strong sons; I can tell you that," Hugh noted, definite.

Splinter watched the human activate the windshield wipers against a sudden snowfall, his chest tightening at the chorus of snores around him. "Even so, they are not unbreakable. This year has been nothing less than a gray cloud. I thought they had found its silver lining at last. But they never reached it and were stuck by lightening."

"That's vivid imagery," Hugh whispered. He probably assumed he couldn't be heard, but Splinter was rigid, not deaf. "So was that lightening Leonardo's kidnapping?"

"And the reveal of Gray-san. The trouble between Michelangelo, Raphael, and Nia-san. Pressure from Bishop. And now the news you delivered as we left the city."

"About Jezebel's sister?"

"Hai…"

"Um"—Hugh paused—"thought we already greeted."

Lifting his vision, the mutant rat met the detective's quizzical gaze in the rearview mirror and sent a grim smile. "'Hai' is the Japanese equivalent of 'Yes'. Pardon my habits."

After a nod Hugh's attention fell on the partly-obscured road. "It's cool. Least now I know what it means—like that 'sun' thing. So…how are Miriam and Jezebel connected? Michelangelo said they saved him once, after he was stabbed, but my gut says it's deeper than that. They just didn't say before passing out."

"They won't say—not so soon afterwards. The news has undoubtedly uprooted old guilt."

"Guilt over what?"

Splinter's sigh was slow and heavy because the mere thought placed a figurative anvil on his chest. "The great calamity Jezebel-san spoke of, the one in which her mother and brother died…my sons were involved."

"_What_?" Hugh's voice rose to a dangerous level and the surprise nearly swerved him off the road when he twisted towards Splinter. A curse later, he corrected the van, and the mutant turtles were sleeping so soundly they didn't flinch, though they had been tossed about. "Jez left things vague about the incident, but I don't think she left out _that_ much. Wha—what happened? Do you know?"

The rat felt totally bleak when he replied, "Things unraveled as the young lady described, only the Good Samaritans she mentioned were my sons. They performed admirably to save them, however…"

"Shit." Hugh sounded breathless. "So what Miriam's doing…"

"Brings them pain I know they cannot ignore."

"Damn." The human's bony band hit the steering wheel then gripped it.

"How long have you known these young women, Reese-san?"

"I've only met Miriam a few times. But Jez? Years. Growing up, she often landed in trouble around my area. I knew her mother in passing because of it. Until she reached sixteen and left home for the Purple Dragons. Really, I—I didn't understand the choice."

"Those of right morals often times cannot understand the choices of the misled."

"No, I get those choices. I deal with a lot of punks who make such choices. But, Jezebel's father was a policeman. He died from gang violence with the Forty-Four Street Crew a few weeks before her little brother was born. My only conclusion is that she wanted an excuse to deal with the crew on _their_ terms, by joining their rival."

"Vengeance is an endless path, corrosive."

"Hence why she lost herself in it. This last year she's come to realize her mistakes, and that night she"—Hugh brought a hand to his temple—"it was her final hurrah, so to speak. Her last time…and she bailed on it before her mother and brother got involved."

"So much loss," Splinter whispered, strangling his cane with achy, shaky paws. "And now Miriam-san is channeling her pain through destructive means."

"If it weren't for Jezebel's sworn testament, I would _never_ think Miriam could take down a gang member—let alone multiple ones. Guess those science classes pay off when you're a girl on a revenge kick…"

"The stress of losing so much"—the words hardly passed through the old master's mouth, and Hugh finished after a moment of silence.

"Broke her. I've seen it too many times, but it happens. I promised Jez I would save Miriam, so when I get back to the city, I'll look for her too."

"So many torn families. So many…"

The thought hurt. It hurt more than the ache of his weighted bones. The Williams. The Summers. The homeless. His own clan. And more. They were all suffering under the loss of missing loved ones. And have found little light to reach for. There had been one glimpse, but it faded into a false lead. How much could they possibly endure?

"It's always darkest before dawn, Mister Splinter." Hugh spoke kindly, as if the wizened rat were his own father. "We'll find the light again. People always do."

"I see why Michelangelo favors you, Reese-san; you are quite an optimistic person," remarked Splinter in a voice close to tears.

"Someone has to be. My wife isn't, so…I try to keep her strong."

"As a husband should." Pausing, the Martial Arts master cleared his throat with a dry cough then steeled himself against the human's pity eyes as he added, "I am sorry my clan had to take you from her at such a terrible time."

"No taking, really. More like given. If I didn't want to help, I wouldn't have rented a van or convinced my wife for the key to the cottage."

"We are asking so much of you."

"Well, I usually spread myself farther than I can stretch anyway, so I'm used to it."

The rat didn't speak, but his eyes narrowed into a subtle prompt that Hugh caught with a glance at the rearview mirror.

"Honestly, Mister Splinter," Hugh continued, sterner. "Even as a policeman, I can't frown on the vigilante work your sons do. I'm known for bending rules. And as a man? I respect them. They have every reason to hate or reject humans, but they choose to stand against great evils for their sakes. They're heroes—the kind I've admired even since I was little. Whether black skin, white skin, or green skin, I can't leave _anyone_ to struggle. So I'm doing the best I can."

"Risking your respectable position—"

"It can be done without being caught. The Battle Shell will be tricky to remove from headquarters, hell yeah. Still, if we time it right, the four of us will get it and the listed objects from Donatello's confiscated bag."

The plan was sound—as sound as one can be regarding a break in of police evidence. Hugh and his colleges knew the workings insides and out. It could be done. But the chances of success were too slim for Splinter's comfort.

"It will be difficult at the cabin alone," the rat muttered with his paw twisted over his cane's gnarled head.

Hugh hummed when his turn signal sounded and the van pulled off an exit. "It's a secluded area, though, grandfathered into Clove Lakes Park. You shouldn't have any visitors."

"That is not what troubles me."

"Yeah…you'll be separated from them until Leonardo is found."

Releasing a long, raspy sigh, Splinter leaned his forehead against his cane and paws. "They do not wish to worry about me at home with the promise of Bishop's invasion. I understand. However, the forty minute drive is long and with the upcoming blizzard Wednesday…"

"I'll keep this van rented for a while. I want to bring Nia here, too. I don't care what Gavin says, that girl needs to leave the city. With her"—his long hand left the steering wheel to flick—"ability thing, it's a dead giveaway where she is when stressed."

"Anders-san is blinded by stubbornness," noted Splinter. Try as he may not to, he growled in slight aggravation.

"So you'll keep her company if I drop her off tomorrow?" The human knew the answer; his playful smile gave it away.

"Yes," the rat answered anyway. "I would happily entertain her."

Hugh gave a chuckle then signaled another turn, down a narrower road. "Alright, the cabin's coming up soon, so why don't you wake the guys?"

Slowly, Splinter nodded and glanced at his sons with a sharp pain in his stomach.

* * *

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn!

Melody's metal fists dented the steel wall of her private quarters—again and again and again.

How? How could Doctor Stephens endure the screams? How could he watch so passively as Recro-12 ate through then recreated the battered body of child? A little girl? How could he stand beside Leonardo, eyes full of fascination as the mutant writhed?

Melody couldn't. Not anymore. She left before the experiment was complete under the excuse of surveying other members in Hall F. For once, she lingered there willingly—in spite of the insults, the angry accusations, the heckling. When Doctor Stephens came to retrieve her as an assistant for the aftermath, she found a means of justifying her decline. But after resting, she was forced into that room with no other means of escape.

And the sight within the operating room's secluded cell shook her lithe body. No, she didn't show the weakness to Stephens. That would be stupid. Here, in her room, though? She left the emotions run free. The disgust over the rancid smell. The annoyance over Recro-12's partial success. The heartbreak of Kaiya's whimpers as she clung onto her caved leg beside Leonardo's twitching form. The Doctor planned for another bout, and Melody couldn't stop him…

'_He'll kill them!_' she thought with her hand wrist-deep in the dented wall. '_Recro-12 isn't degenerating them fully, but if he pushes things…Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!_'

"Melody?" A timid voice drifted across the dark room—Tabitha. The shuffling sounds of the Nubian's large boot-feet scurrying around the door didn't bring Melody off the floor. She sat there, even when an organic hand rested on her metallic shoulder. "Mel—are you crying?"

Rigid, the blonde cyborg twisted her heavy head towards the dark-skin teen, whose plump lips parted in surprise. Melody considered bringing a hand to her cheek for confirmation, but then she realized: neither of her hands could feel.

"I take it things didn't go well today?" Tabi added, leaning against the wounded wall.

"Stephens' promotion is the worst mistake the president has _ever_ made," Mel countered, even yet heated.

"That's saying something."

"He's sick." Speaking the phrase alone tightened the blonde's throat without flashbacks bringing new tears. "We always suspected it, on some level. But now that he's procured more power, it's showing outside of his…closet."

"The room…"

"Experiments."

"Yeah, but what for?"

"Everything."

Tabitha turned green as she slid down the wall to meet Melody's glare.

"He doesn't care, so long as he sees activity. And he gets his bodies from a girl named Miriam. She delivers live for a fee."

"So someone's out there…selling people to him?"

"We did the same work, Tabitha. I even recall you bringing back a _child_."

"I wasn't thinking clearly that night, okay?" Glaring in return, the Nubian huffed and fiddled with her knee guards. "How'd you find that out, anyway?"

"He told me."

"No…"

"Yes. He's growing more confident. And our recent behavior hasn't been fluid. He knows." There was a tremble beside Melody; she sensed it in her chest rather than her arm, which Tabi brushed against. "He says we should continue to serve him regardless. It's in our best interests, our very _hardware_."

"He has a kill switch," Tabitha whispered. Melody had never heard her so frightened, even before their transformation, so she steeled herself when the younger woman sobbed.

"He is smart enough not to reveal it," the blonde said with no more emotion, "so I need you to keep collected, Tabitha."

"Co—collected? Some whacko sadist has my life in a button and you want me _collected_?"

"Yes."

A long moment of silence passed as Mel's stern gaze bore into the Nubian, who hicked.

"Tabitha, you and Sven must act normally. Stephens cannot know what we plan."

"And wh—what are we planning?"

"The next run I am sent on, I will look for…help. There is someone who could diagnose me, find the switch. Then, when it is severed, I can return and free _everyone_ here."

"Well, w—why can't Sven and I go with you?"

"Too much time, resources, and explanations. Besides, if the three of us disappeared for a long period of time, it would look suspicious."

"So? The kill switch must have a range, right? Why can't our squad just run and not look back?"

"Do not be brash"—Mel snapped while gripping a hand on Tabitha's knee guard—"we put these people here. We owe it to them…What if your parents were in there and their lives were in the hands of another. Would you not want that other to save them?"

The dark-skinned teen didn't counter or deny. She huffed, scratching her wide nose as confirmation.

"Thought so. Odds are high the kill switch is GPS based, which means no matter how far we run, a satellite will find us. So you should be careful where you go from now on."

"What about you?"

"I can jam it. At least for a time. Hopefully, long enough that the switch can be found."

"And what do Sven and I do in the meantime?"

"What you usually do. And if Stephens asks for you help—"

"We can't deny him."

The shake of Mel's head felt like defying gravity. "Keep calm, no matter what. I will return with others to help."

"You sound pretty confident they can."

She did? She didn't think any sort of emotion shined through her dead tone.

"Why are you so sure whoever you know can get us out alive?"

"Well"—the blonde glanced at the dented wall then Tabitha's uneasy expression—"one of them stupidly excels at rescues and for once…I need it."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Aw, snap! Poor guys can't seem to get away from that night. And I bet some of you had positive hopes for Miriam. *sigh* Next is "Tilt". Paige tries to talk some sense into Leo's cracked psyche, Gavin gives insight into Nia's state, then a talk between Nia and Raph. Reviews, folks!


	30. Tilt

**Author's Notes:** Thanks, Big Six. To those who mentioned and like Hugh, thanks A LOT. I hope by the end of this story, you'll LOVE him. ;)  
**Warning:** Disturbing images in the first scene...  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 30 - ****Tilt**

Leonardo could feel Kaiya curled beside him in the cell. Her frame shook and hicked against the cruel floor and her little hands wrapped tightly around the mutant's limp forearm as if he were giant Teddy Bear. Or maybe she gripped his heart because that's where he felt the pressure. Or did the pressure stem from the short doctor's tests?

Really, it was hard to tell anymore...

"Leonardo?"

Someone called his name softly. But who? Kaiya passed out from pain long ago. They were the only two in the cell…right?

"Leonardo, please."

The whisper grew strained. Why? It couldn't be real.

"Leonardo!"

A tight grip forced his lolled head sideways. His dry eyes barely blinked the haze of exhaustion into submission before they registered a pretty strawberry-blonde with regal facial features suitable for the Queen of England. Her dark freckles danced across her blistered skin as she sent him a displeased look with bright eyes and pressed pink lips. The grip—her cold hands—shook his head like his attention were drifting. Maybe it was.

"Leonardo!" she said in a sharper whisper. "Can you hear me?"

"Who…are you?" he hoarsely asked. At her huff, it felt like his head rose from his shoulders, drifting backwards with hot air; however, the anchor of her hands meant he remained stationary—head and all.

"It's me, Paige." The young woman glanced elsewhere, at the blurs of Leo's vision. Her head shook in response to a garbled question then fell on the mutant. "Please, you have to keep focus. We….we _need_ you."

"Need?" The word sounded funny, and Leonardo laughed at it until his lungs protested.

"Leonardo." Paige said his name with great sorrow. Did she not understand?

"No one needs me," Leo added, crisp now that his throat was cleared. "Not Abigail. Not David. Not Joseph or Ellen. Not even Donald. Not my brothers. No one. Not needed."

"Who are David and Ellen? Er, never mind. You"—the hands tightened along his jaw—"You weren't like this at the start. You…I guess you didn't notice under Donald's mouth, but Quill and I _believed_ you. It was nice…having optimism. Why are you giving in?"

The mutant tried to jerk his head from Paige's hands, but she resituated herself so no matter where he looked, she was there. "Can't save…anyone," he whispered, heavy. "Useless. Failure…Not worthy."

"You don't have to be worthy to help others; just willing!" the blonde snapped. Her dull fingernails scraped the tender areas where some skin regenerated and he cried out. "Ah, so—sorry."

"People keep…dying. Why try when…the others will be the same?"

"You don't _know_ that. Yes, a lot of us have…But there are many left. Rupert and Kaiya still look up to you. They need you. And Quill and I need you willing if we're going to save them."

"Save from what?" he asked, though he knew the answer likely dealt with their new doctor—the man who stood over Leo with a childish glee in his dark eyes as the mutant's skin burned like acid.

The short-haired blonde drew in a deep breath like she was biting down nausea. "You know Hall F's been taken over by Doctor Stephens now that Doctor Lombardo is on suspension. Before this, we knew him only as a man with a private department monitored by his cousin, the CEO. He supposedly deals with biomechanics and built the cyborgs. N—now that he's taken over a hall, though…he's diving head-first into Lombardo's research."

Yeah, he could tell. The after effects from Recro-12 left Leonardo's skin raw like a naked nerve. The cells would occasionally collapse, recede, then rebuild with the pain of being skinned alive. And his myoclonic twitches returned.

"Leonardo." Panic and pain left Paige's address cracked. "Quill and I are in here with you because we're the next youngest members of the hall. He—he sent out Melody to find younger ones, but…he has an experiment planned."

What plan? Did it matter? Obviously, Paige wanted to fight it somehow. But what was the use? They could fail.

"Will you not fight for Kaiya and Rupert just because you're scared?"

Leonardo met her glare with lazy eyes. The longer he stared, the less focused her fair features grew. But her rising emotion could be felt with each passing second.

"All four of us need your help. We _need_ you!"

Did they? Could they possibly?

With Paige's hands loosened, Leo's vision drifted to Kaiya. She buried her face into his arm so only her bare back showed. He noticed it glowed bright yellow beneath the skin, bubbling upwards like pockets of air were seeking a way out. A warm wetness met the mutant's arm as the tainted cells contracted, bringing tissue and nerves with it that produced a repugnant scent—flesh decay. Moments passed before the bubbling eased. By then, new skin remained, fading into the natural tone of the girl.

"If Stephens has any say in it, that's just the start for her," Paige said. Her bitter voice gained Leonardo's attention and when she held it, her freckled face paled with her quickened breath. "Recro-12 works best on young cells, so he wants to see if he transplants Kaiya's cells into older subjects, if it will stimulate their regeneration. You hear that? He wants to_ cut up _a little girl and _sew her _onto people! In the name of science? _No_! He just wants to say he did it! And will you sit here and _let_ him do it?"

She was crying now, though she may not have noticed. Or cared. Her body shook in its white uniform while she stumbled onto her butt at his side, her fists clenched tight. She kept her chin up in determination and sent the mutant a pointed stare that cut through him.

"Answer me," she said with the regality of a queen. "Will you sit here…and _let_ him do it?"

Leonardo glanced at Kaiya then back at Paige. And tilted his head.

* * *

The one thing Gavin hated above all else was the Earth Protection Force. Protection wasn't their goal. It was nothing more than a worthless origination ruled by a crazy man, who controlled stupid people for his own agenda. The redhead found it ridiculous how the people fawned over him. Acceptance, awe, speculation, morbid intrigue—it didn't matter. In one way or another, New Yorkers talked about him. Often.

'_Fools have no idea what they're falling for_,' thought Gavin while glaring at the snowy scene from Lennox Hill Hospital.

Then again, it wasn't like they had been the ones kidnapped and tortured. And they sure as hell didn't have a wife in a coma thanks to his underling's stupidity. Or a daughter he experimented on for a month before sending her into the city like a staged animal ready for slaughter…

"What do I do with that girl?" he questioned, soft. His eyes fell on the closed bathroom door of the private room.

She stayed in there often—day and night. No bed. No food. Not even a light. She wouldn't show her face to anyone and when she did, she looked like walking death. It was all thanks to that mutant brute, yet she wouldn't throw away the themed cell phone she clung to like a lifeline. The father tried taking it from her once then was forced to fix a severed circuit in it when she wouldn't stop crying otherwise. Of course, she hardly had the mind to thank him before secluding herself—again—staring at the device like it would somehow produce a miracle.

'_I don't understand. The Hamatos can call the hospital if they find her friend. She doesn't have to be reminded of what that _beast_ said about her…_'

True. Yet she kept it because she didn't sever her connection to the mutants like he'd hoped she would. She talked with the youngest brothers, though kept it as secret as possible. There was also a new person, an Angel Bridge, who'd called a few times in the past.

Associate of Raphael, a tough-speaking woman with history, apparently. At first, Nia didn't want to speak with her. The things Angel told Gavin about Raphael's supposed regret made the father thankful for such. Even so, behind his back, on that damn phone, the girls made eventual contact. Now, Nia talked with Angel at least once every other day.

'_Angel tries to convince her to see him. Why? She left him, too, so she must know there isn't anything worth returning to. Foolish girls…She better not be—_'

"Nia," Gavin called while nearing the bathroom door. "Are you talking to that girl again? Angel?"

He paused for a reply, yet was only rewarded with the chorus of machine beeps and breaths from around Mia.

"Nia, _answer me_!"

Gavin's hand jiggled the long handle, expecting to find it locked. It wasn't. It clicked open and the heavy thing swung inwards to reveal a stark-clean bathroom—dark, stained with disinfectants, and empty. The air caught in his throat as he entered, searching in the shower for her form. He only found a note, stuck, tilted, to the shower wall with a simple word written. 'Sorry.'

* * *

Okay. So leaving the warm comfort of a hospital bathroom during her father's nap may've been a bad idea compared to the alternative: trucking through an on-coming blizzard while dressed in pajamas, a winter coat, and insulated Converse. Nia had gathered her father's wool scarf, beanie, and gloves before she left for New York's streets. However, the subzero weather that chapped skin the moment it greeted it blew right through her, causing her teeth to chatter.

She had to ignore the sting of her ribs and push through the snow, though; she had a meeting spot she needed to be at. So, animated by determination, the young woman opposed the blizzard's strong winds down the sidewalks. She kept momentum through its white haze—almost crossing a street with green lights—before she reached Central Park a long time later.

She arrived at its southern-most end, entering with a heavy chest. The place was a reminder of Halloween. It always would be. There were even evident wounds on the bark of several trees where EPF guns had missed their targets. Mostly. Pausing in the shin-high snow, Nia's gloved-hand slid below the collars of her quilt coat and night shirt until it touched the textured skin across her left collarbone.

"Yer scar hurt?" a gruff voice suddenly asked from the trees.

Nia's breath seized at the surge of surprise that tingled her chilled limbs, yet she kept calm as she said, "You aren't Mikey,"

"No…I'm not." Raphael sounded a tad disappointed, which he tried to mask with a half-hearted chuckle. "One Mike's enough for the world."

"I don't know," Nia countered, listless out of caution, "I think the world could use more guys like him. Not like…" With a shaky sigh that produced a ragged vapor cloud, the human drew her arms close and avoided eye contact when Raphael descended from the branches.

"Nia," he said.

But she refused to note how soft or genuine he sounded. "Wh—why isn't he here? I called him because after your false lead and Splinter and…I called him because I wanted to stand beside him and Donny."

"An' not me?"

No, she wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing how hard his wounded tone stuck. She only licked her dry, cracked lips while keeping her gaze on the blanket of white across the park.

"I forced Mikey ta let me go instead," the leather-clad mutant said after a moment of silence. He kept at a distance, yet his voice unwilling called her. "I—I wanna talk wit' ya. Even if ya don't care or believe me at the end…I want ya ta hear me out. Will ya?"

"You'll take me to the others afterwards, right?"

He flinched at her curt response; she noted so in her peripheral vision. "Yeah…"

Honestly? She wanted to deny him. She didn't want to face the pain—old and possibly new. Who would? But Angel's words reiterated the tugs in Nia's brain, the ones that said the mutant was sincere in his intents. She felt it as clearly as she felt Mister Baker's emotions.

"Ya aren't Angel," Raphael started. Already, Nia felt like screaming. "No, no, no"—the hothead stepped forward with his large arms raised—"listen! Ya aren't Angel an'…that's why I was hard on ya. It was—I…_dammit_."

Frustration. Confusion. Nia's heart raced, though the feelings weren't her own. She tried pushing them aside like she could with others. But they were too strong—they filled the atmosphere like water and churned as Raphael removed his mask and beanie so nothing obscured his pointed look at her.

"I ain't good wit' words."

Obviously. She didn't retaliate, however, and waited with a controlled expression when he continued, wringing his mask between his large hands.

"I often do things an' say things I regret. I got a short-temper. An' I won't ever be Prince Charmin'."

"Who _wants_ Prince Charming?" Nia said before she knew her lungs regained air. "That's too perfect. I—I knew from the start I wasn't getting a prince, but…"

Surprise—it lit Raph's widened amber eyes and drew him another step forward.

"I've talked with Angel." Her next words stopped the mutant in his tracks.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sh—she's actually the one who convinced me to call again…though I only wanted to speak with Mikey."

A long pause filled with the blizzard's wind followed before Raph asked, "What'd she tell ya?"

"That's you're an inconsiderate ass that needs to learn control."

New pain shot so deep, it physically hurt Nia's brain. She cringed at it, holding her temple with her unbroken hand. When Raphael reached for her, she backed against a bare tree to avoid his touch and the pain.

"Think of something else!" she cried with a whimper. "Wh—why wouldn't you let me help? Why didn't you want me beside you? Why…_why_ did you say that to Mikey?"

The sharp pain remained, even when the hothead inhaled steadily. "When I said that…I wasn't"—he scoffed—"I wasn't thinkin' straight. I was bein' stupid, I admit. An'…I was scared."

Scared? Of what? Nia drew her gaze from the snow to find Raphael glaring at random trees. Both hands were stuffed deep in his pockets and he lightly trembled. A nag at the base of Nia's skull told her it wasn't due to the cold.

"Look"—he started strong but with obvious traces of apprehension as his eyes remained averted—"I ain't too great at sharin' feelin's. I—I hate the vulnerability an' like takin' care 'a personal things myself. It never bothered me an' Angel back then, so when ya brought it up…I didn't like the idea. I didn't want…"

"Want what?" asked Nia in soft, strained words. "To be hurt? Did you think I'd laugh at your nightmare or—or dismiss it?"

The mutant's bare head whirled, quick, to meet her prickling eyes. "No," he answered stiffly. "I felt I would crumble if I told ya. So I didn't wanna."

"That's _selfish_." Nia's whisper barely carried over the howling wind. The temperature must've dropped with the night, but the human felt hot beneath her jacket, as if it were on fire. "I was vulnerable too. Yet I didn't write _you_ off—for that or anything else! You shot me down when all I did was try to help! I did my _best_, and you—you…"

Raphael steeled under her glare, like in a trance. "I'm sorry; I wasn't fair ta ya bringin' up Angel the way I did."

He meant that. Still, Nia required more, and pressed him with hard eyes.

"This has been two stressful things at once," he added. "Wit' Leo taken an' realizin'…"

"Realizing _what_?"

Awkward—that would be the perfect word for the shuffling of Raph's boots and the way his head tilted, trying and failing to keep eye contact.

"Raph, be blunt!" She couldn't keep her words listless anymore. They flared and she swore they melted snow around her legs.

Raphael fiddled a moment longer before he approached in the deep snow, looking down at the black-haired human with his unreadable eyes. "Fine. Bottom line: ya make me feel…weak. An' I _hate_ that."

"Weak?"

"Yeah. I—I noticed it days before Leo was taken. Like I said, yer different from Angel. Yer touch is stronger. Yer eyes…It scares me."

Nia frowned when the quiver in Raphael grew. He no longer faced her, but the emotions—hers and his—overwhelmed her heart to the point of tears. What were they tears of? Fear? Regret? Hurt? Frustration? Exhaustion? It felt like a potent mix of everything in her veins. The tears stung when they fell down her reddened cheeks, but they went unattended as she reached the sai master.

"Opening yourself up isn't weakness, Raph," she commented, glancing in the opposite direction of him. "It's hard, but it isn't weakness."

"Feels like it."

"Does that mean you never want to share yourself with anyone?"

"I…thought so…"

"Do you still think so?"

He paused, though the female lacked strength to meet the eyes she felt boring into her skull. "I've talked wit' everyone an' mauled things over an' over again. It—it's maddening how I can't get ya outta my head. I know it would be easier if I let things go. But I can't—I can't…let ya go."

He couldn't? No! Nia's heart shouldn't race. It shouldn't swell with hope and it certainly shouldn't ache for him. Finding reasonable ground was one thing, but this? She clenched her unbroken hand as a distraction and ensured her gaze didn't waver from the trees.

"I find it scary as hell," Raph continued while taking a heart-pounding step forward. He had the gall to wipe a few tears from her face, too. "An' I got every reason not ta be forgiven. I know. Still, I've decided on what I want. An' I want ya."

"_If_ I did"—Nia spoke against her will, with a broken tone—"it can't be like before."

"Ya know I can't change inta Mister Sensitive."

"I'm not saying you need to _change_." Fresh tears surged when her resolve failed under the weight of relief, hope, and something else that tilted the world. She peered up at Raphael, who met her with the faintest trace of fear in his eyes. "_Grow_ with me. Lean on me. Know you don't have to keep face when it's us. And don't be scared to tell me things, even stupid comments. I'll listen. Th—that's what I've always wanted. I can't fight by your side like the others, but I can be our home support. _That's_ where my strength lies."

"'Our home'?"

Nia's stomach caught in her throat at Raphael's light smirk. "Be serious, Raph!" she retorted with a half-hearted assault on his solid arm. "I _mean_ this. Would you be willing to do this for us? Are we worth feeling weak over? Do you"—the lump expanded in her throat—"do you want to grow with me?"

The duo stood stiff like the blizzard had frozen them in place. In spite of the wind, the chill, and the snow, Nia felt hot and tense. Raphael's wide mouth opened in slow motion, preparing for the answer that could make or break her. Yet it fell short, cut off by a heavy force.

It hit the earth through the bare trees with a resonating thump that spewed snow in the duo's direction. In seconds, Raphael stood before Nia, his sais drawn from a place the human never saw. His stocky form kept her shielded, but she couldn't help peering around his arm as someone rose in the rippled snow.

The figure's black suit created the ultimate contrast against the blanket of white. It accentuated her endowed, lithe form and revealed her arms—her metallic arms. She wore no coat, not even a scarf. But maybe the metal down the right side of her face kept her warm? Didn't seem like it could.

"Gray," Raphael growled while strengthening his stance.

Her blue eye regarded him, fearless in her march. "Where have you been? I have searched for hours and have little time."

Nia blinked at her when Raph side-glanced.

"Looking for a fight?" the mutant asked, snarky.

The blonde cyborg halted with an impatient huff. "If I wanted one of those, you would be on the ground already. No. I need Donatello."

"Oh?"

"Don't act so flippant about it!" she cried in a heated tone. It caught Raph off guard; Nia sensed the surprise and confusion. "If you want to save your brother, then he needs to help me."

"Leo…"

"Yes." Stopping before the mutant, the tips of his sai by her waist, she glared, hissing, "So get me Donny!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Six chapters left and yes, this is where crap really hits the fan. Prepare! Next is "Retrieval" - a LONG chapter where Don finally tells Mel all that he's been holding in while Hugh meets with his friends to get back evidence. You know the drill!


	31. Retrieval

**Author's Notes:** So, by 'six chapters left' I mean 'eight'. Because I had to do some finagling.  
Duckie, Nia's like a human lie detector. ROFL.  
Luke, thank you so much. Now prepare for the ball to drop.  
Raven and Dragon, LOL.  
Feather, glad you're rooting for Paige. She's...important. Just, more so _later_. Also, this chapter should expand your love for Hugh then. :P  
**Disclaimer: **TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 31 - ****Retrieval**

Finally, after nearly a month, Hun knew the truth. It may've sounded ridiculous when he thought about it. After all, what gang leader would ever suspect a young woman—a dime-a-dozen civilian—could be capable of spiriting away so many trained men? When Switchblade brought his boss to the captive in their headquarters' basement, Hun hit the cyborg in anger, thinking it a joke.

Apparently, it wasn't.

The round-featured Hispanic, Miriam Summers, made defiant comments. At first. Seemed she had a vendetta against the Purple Dragons. Something about killing her whole family? Whatever. The motive details bored him, really, so he intensified his interrogative tactics to lure the more important information from her bloodied lips. Several broken bones, burns, and cuts later, she sang a different tune in the chair she had been tied against.

Simply put, Miriam sold them. To the same company Hun was dealing with for Project-C, at that. How ironic. And infuriating. The giant may have broken the girl's collarbone in his outright shock over the matter. She was quiet now, thankfully.

The man's cool eyes ran over the bruises and abrasions that discolored his captive's semi-tan skin below thick ropes. Her head of matted, dark hair lolled back against the headrest, though her throat rasped for breath. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't bend her head. Maybe it had something to do with pride or stupidity.

"Sir," Switchblade called from the leader's flank.

"You know your orders, right?" Hun countered, vision still on Miriam.

"Yes. Pierce and I will head to New Jersey tonight and raid Black Lotus."

"And when you're done gathering everything useful?"

There was a short pause—filled with excitement. "We burn it down."

* * *

She called him? She called him. She called him!

Nearly twenty minutes later, Donatello's mind still couldn't comprehend the phrase. No, not phrase. The reality.

She called him!

"Jeeze, Don, do I gotta anchor you from Cloud Nine?" Michelangelo asked from across the Lab. His chair sat close to the brick wall between a cluttered shelf and askew table—like he was seeking shelter.

But that seemed silly; Don wasn't that overpowering…was he?

"Hey," the youngest added, leaning forward, "is that the front door?"

"Is it?" Don didn't bother listening for noise, but when he reached the Lab's entrance, realization set in. Deadpanning, he faced his orange-banded brother, a hand gripping tight to the doorjamb. "Ha. Ha. _Mikey_."

Mikey smiled impishly from his seat. "Seriously, Dude. I've never seen you with such a stupid grin on your face before."

"It's _no_ grin!" The genius countered, not as offended as planned.

"Dude, it's so wide I think your face is split!"

"And if it _is_? We now have a real lead on Leo's whereabouts and are getting help. That's _good_ news." Yeah, his words were less than composed, so he cleared his throat then returned to organizing for Melody's arrival—calmly.

"Uh-huh." Mikey's pointed look could be felt like a nagging reminder. "Because the fact Melody personally asked for your help has nothing to do with it."

Hearing her name flipped Donatello's stomach then sunk it. An incomplete shock grenade slipped from his fingers when he reeled and it violently hit his foot, causing him to curse.

"I'm _so_ right," the younger mutant continued as his older brother picked the grenade back up. "I know you really like her, Donny, but…is it really best to bring her here?"

Gently, Don placed the grenade in a cardboard box then faced Mikey with a grimmer smile. "If I'm going to find that kill switch, I need my Lab."

"But what if you need something that was in your bag?" Michelangelo's gaze averted while a new sensation beat the genius' stomach.

"It held mostly research—research on our family. Files, medical journals—"

"Blood work."

Donny froze when stern blue eyes landed on him. "Right; you dug through the bag. Guess you saw…"

"Why are you studying Sensei's blood?"

"If ya try anything'"—Raphael cynical voice silenced Don from the Lair's living room—"_anythin'_ at all—I swear I'll—"

"Raph, stop; she's telling the truth!" Nia added, closer.

A trio of footsteps descended the short hall to the Lab—all of them hurried. When they entered, oxygen left Donatello's lungs. Or the room. Either way, he sought for it back. Only, it felt impossible with Melody's perturbed face crossing the Lab like a prowling lioness. It was reminiscent of the times she lost an argument, made a mistake, or was denied a soda from the vending machine. He never thought he could miss a look so much.

"Tell your _fool_ of a brother it's absolutely illogical for me to risk _my_ life just to 'discover your Lair'," the cyborg snapped with air quotations. Her cold words slapped the genius into real life, bringing with it air.

"Raph," Donatello started with a slight groan.

Raph kept Nia close, one sai still drawn. "Don't start, Don. She still took Leo an' she—"

"Is here because she wants to help, right?" Don's eyes were not on the hothead, but the blonde that stood with attitude away from the group.

"Or she's using ya. Did ya think 'a that?"

"No." The genius shook his head gently as he approached Melody with slow steps, their eyes connected. "She wouldn't do that; it's not in her blood. If she can't find a straight-arrow way towards her goal—through her own means—then she would rather not have it. Right, Mel?"

"D—don't." Melody spoke with a tremble in her low voice and a twitch in her stance.

"She only asks for help when she's absolutely choiceless. And even then, she'll only ask those she"—he flashed a small smile—"she trusts. Those are few."

"Look." The cyborg fought for control. She inhaled deeply and like the times before, the fire in her died. "You need only remove the kill switch. I do not require a psychoanalysis. Such is redundant."

"No, it's not," Don countered, softer. He stopped within arm's distance from her and it was tempting—so tempting—to gather her into a hug. But her despondent expression kept his hands beside him, his grin widening.

"Why are you smiling, Damn Mechanic?"

He dared take another step at the nickname, saying in a whisper, "You trust me. After everything, you still _trust_ me."

"You said it yourself, I'm choiceless," Melody retorted with a glare. It was defensive. Meaning…he was right. Did she even realize the signs she sent?

"Mel…"

"_Don't_ say my name like that!" she snapped.

Her glare turned pained as she back-stepped towards the wall. Yet he didn't stop. He couldn't. She deserved to know. He needed her to know. Regardless of the time and place, she must realize he said her name softly because it left him breathless.

In that breathlessness, his long arms raised. It startled her when they were placed against her cheeks and stiffened as he closed the distance between them without warning. Their lips touched softly like a whisper, but every amount of regret, sorrow, and longing flowed through it, heating the contact. A quiver in the blonde's full lips could be felt in his heart, so he ran a comforting thumb across her square jaw before pulling away.

Speechless, Melody gazed at him. Her organic eye was wide—akin to the time she first realized his mutation. But in addition to the flecks of blue and gray was now violet. Something about her transformation must've effected the melanin, and he smiled at it, saying,

"I'm sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt you. I panicked, made a bad choice and—"

"This"—the cyborg barely kept her cold tone even—"is hardly a time, Donatello."

"No." His large hands found her shoulders, which didn't shrug him away. Maybe it would've been better if they had since he no longer controlled himself. "This _needs_ to be said; I can't keep it in anymore. I made a mistake, okay? And I don't want to live in it. I did for months, so I know I can't take it. I _can't_…live without you, Melody."

"Please." The cyborg glared in a vain attempt to maintain face. "Stop."

"I can't," he whispered back, moving his hands to her neck. "You were so brave to tell me, and I was stupid to listen to fear. I—it's not what I really wanted, alright? What I wanted and still want is _you_. Your good, your bad—all of it. 'Anyone worth knowing comes with good and bad', remember? That's what I want. Because I've loved you for years. And I never stopped—not once. I won't stop either…even if you do. So…I'm sorry."

Melody shook under his touch, unable to form words or move. When Donatello drew away, he swore a glint of yearning passed Melody's eyes. Then again, that could've been wishful thinking. He swallowed a hard lump in his dry throat when her gaze fell and a swell of apprehension crushed his chest. He said what he needed, yet…he felt sick at the notion of the blonde's possible rejection.

"Well," Michelangelo interjected awkwardly. He stood with Raph and Nia on the sidelines, fidgeting. "I think Raph and Nia and I will go call Hugh and see where we need to meet up for the…thing. Right, guys?"

The orange-banded Chūnin twisted to the two by his side, yet neither had words. Raphael looked utterly flabbergasted like he'd just witnessed the divine creation of life. And beside him, Nia smiled, her teal eyes glistening with mutual relief when they met Don's. The two were pliable against Mikey's sudden push, which forced them towards the exit.

"Be quick, Bro!" the youngest called back before they left.

Don watched with a weak grin as the Lab door shut then he faced Melody again, stiffly asking, "Are you ready to run a diagnostic?"

"I'm not a machine," she muttered. The mutant swore she missed the veil of her dreadlocks because her eye darted about, seeking anywhere but him.

"Well, even in the medical field it's called a diagnosis."

The cyborg scoffed. "And now you seek to act like you've said nothing strange?"

"I said what I meant, Mel," Donny countered kindly.

"Right; you don't say things to flatter."

"Exactly."

"Not that I need flattering."

"Of course not." He tilted his head when her blue eye caught his, but no amount of metal could bury the pride that kept her from growing abashed.

Her strong chin jutted out as she said, puzzled yet stern, "I don't understand you. Love me? Through all this? You should have given up on me…It was the logical thing to do."

"Perhaps so, but I could never bring myself to do such a thing." Reluctantly, Don took Melody's hands in his and ran his large thumbs over the dents in the polished metal. Though he knew she couldn't feel his touch, he hoped she would take the meaning behind the gesture to heart. "Melody…I can't count the people that gave up on you or hurt you. It grew to the point where you were a pillar of strength for the homeless, giving out everything of yourself without anyone returning the favor because you don't know how to accept it. I _refuse_ to be one of those people, so I never gave up. And I never will…"

She kept quiet with her gaze set on a corner—to process his words. It always took time with such things and he knew a proper response wasn't in the near future. Instead of pressing for one, he released her hands and headed for a table filled with sensors, scalpels, wire clippers, and more.

"Alright," he said, lighter. "Now let's find this kill switch before Hugh starts his retrieval plan without us."

"…Who's Hugh?"

* * *

Near nine at night, Hugh neared the salted entrance of Manhattan's Property Office—the location where Donatello's duffle bag resided and the place he convinced three members of his precinct to break into. "Is everyone clear on the plan?" he asked the group, causally studying a chain link fence along the sidewalk.

"This better help get Kaiya back," Blaine grumbled on Hugh's right.

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Noah McGinnis commented from behind. In seconds, he rounded Hugh to send a pointed stare with green eyes—as if his strong, Greek countenance was held at gun point.

"We need you for muscle, Noah," Donna Sloan added. Her nasally voice rose with excitement and she trotted to Noah until her pale hands slipped under his tanned forearm. "Look at these suckers. You're a tank!"

Younger. More free time. Single. Of course the twenty-five-year-old worked out often. Still, Hugh couldn't stop the jealously from showing on his face—apparently.

"Oh, you're fit for a man your age, Hugh."

He grimaced at her girlish smile framed by chin-length bangs. "You ready to pick the locks, Donna?"

"Always," she replied with a flip of her braid over her sweater. "Who knew years of sneaking into restricted areas for parties would benefit me as an officer!"

"That's probably not something you should tell others," Noah noted, though he smirked.

She blew a noisy breath, flicking her wrist dismissively while switching places so she stood between Noah and Hugh. "Those accounts were expunged. Besides, you guys are no different. If we reported one another as often as we should, Blaine would be suspended on accounts of anger management, you'd be penalized for misplacement of files, and Hugh'd know the Human Resource Department like his own mother."

"For what?" Hugh questioned, glaring at the woman's poke at his arm.

"Do you really gotta ask?" Donna rolled her dark eyes jokingly. "Pulling people into utility closets can count as harassment, I'm sure."

"How often do I do that?"

"You pulled all three of us in there just this morning."

"At once," Blaine remarked.

"Do you know how tight it is in there, even if you aren't as built as me?" Noah asked.

At the three's displeased looked, the African-American huffed. "The EPF has invaded every precinct in this city, so I wanted to keep out of sight. Their breaks are short, ya know?"

"And the times before then?" Donna asked, brow arched.

"What times?"

"Hugh, face it"—Blaine interjected with a trace of exasperation—"you're known for it around the precinct. Now, are we going to do this or not?"

Hugh soured when the team gathered close, yet nodded without a word. Slowly, his long fingers traced the outline of a Mid-Level Frequency Disrupter in his coat pocket. It sent a pulse of anxiety through his limbs as the officers stopped by the office. Here he was, using police resources to commit a serious crime and dragging others along with him.

Good intentions or not, a crime was still a crime. He couldn't help feeling wrong standing before the quaint, two-story building on the block's corner. Of course, Police Headquarters didn't help; it opposed the street and held the presence of a disappointed father. But what could be done? Lives needed saved, even if the rules must bend.

That's how he convinced the others to follow him…

"Hugh, did you turn it on?" Blaine questioned impatiently.

Hugh met his glare, heavy under its buried pain. "Not yet. Let me enter the lobby and when I start talking with Renald I'll activate it. You head around back when you notice your cell signal's interfered and I'll keep him distracted."

"Great, our careers are in the hands of Hugh's mouth." Noah spoke like he lamented his position, yet followed Donna and Blaine towards the chain-link gates that barricaded the office's gravel parking lot surrounding its side and back.

"Just make sure you grab the right things, Hercules," Hugh shot back.

He didn't bother waiting for a reply and skipped to the office's wall of bullet-proof glass, where the lobby's front door was located beneath a tin canopy. His eyes narrowed under the poor light, so he shielded his vision from its glare against the door by pressing his face on its cool surface. Inside the nearly-bare space, a half-circle desk with a blonde security guard behind it sat at the back.

The guard's shoes were propped on the desk's angled top, his lazy vision set on an EPF soldier beside him. They may've been arguing or talking in general, but Hugh banged a hand against the door. When the guard glanced his way, he wiped condensation from the glass then grinned cheekily and waved, though the EPF soldier's raised gun felt unsettling. It was with a roll of his eyes that Samuel Renald pushed the plasma gun aside, before he stood and approached Hugh.

"What are you doing, Reese?" Samuel questioned after the door unlocked.

Hugh slid passed him, faking a shiver as his shoes clicked across the tile floor. "Is there something wrong with a visit? I haven't seen you since—"

"Since you wanted to obsess over evidence from the fire on Eighty-Fifth and Madison?" The younger gentleman flashed a listless look while crossing his arms.

"I've stopped by for other reasons before then."

"Don't get me started on those. What do you want now?"

"Nothing; honest." Hugh gave an easy laugh while his hands slipped into his pockets. Inconspicuously, he activated the Frequency Disrupter then glanced around the area. "They really need to install an arcade game or a jukebox or something. How do you keep from going crazy?"

"I'm not in the mood to talk," Samuel snapped. Strange, he was in a grumpier mood than usual.

With a sly side-glance, Hugh saw the EPF soldier standing at attention, eyeing the tall detective like an animal liable for attack. "Not fond of your new company?" he asked under his breath.

Now blonde's attention was piqued. "The damn Commissioner's assigned EPF jerk-offs to every stationary police position—like babysitters," he whispered back.

It was a joy to note the soldier stepped forward, away from the security desk. "Yeah, it's the same with my precinct. We can't write a sentence without them knowing."

"Micromanaging sons of—"

"What are you talking about?" the soldier questioned. The condensation in his tone felt thick enough to choke on, and Hugh shared a mutual look of disdain with Samuel before scoffing.

"Nothing; we're getting back to work," Samuel said while heading for his station.

"But I think we should talk some more," Hugh added—awkward in mild panic.

"Like I said, I'm _not_ in the mood."

"But—"

"What's going on with the screens?" The EPF goon noticed the disruption first and fiddled with the settings on the mini-monitors recessed into the desk's slanted surface.

Training and experience kept Hugh calm as he approached Samuel's side. "Wow, that's some glitch," he noted, easy only on the outside. "Have you checked for mice recently? Rats? Maybe a couple chipmunks?"

Samuel sent a suspicious glare, but the soldier responded first. A strong grip on Hugh's coat forced him sideways and before he could react or regain balance, the goon's hands violated every pocket on him. The detective escaped his hold all too late, so when the soldier held up the Frequency Disrupter—a scowl on his face—Hugh instinctively glanced at the monitors.

Their resolution flickered then cleared into black and white displays. Near the middle, one monitor showcased a tight area filled with lines of metal lockers. Between two rows, a strained Noah held open the strong jaws of one locker's door while Blaine and Donna rummaged through the duffle bag inside. Mikey's Shell Cell was already in Blaine's grasp and Donna handed over a few distressed notebooks before pausing.

She hesitated before withdrawing a large, three-fingered glove—an invention of Donatello's, no doubt. She slipped it on and fiddled with it as Blaine snapped at her. She snapped back and, in anger, her arm flew against Noah. The moment the glove touched Noah's side, the tank man withed in shock so violently, his arms collapsed and he hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. The locker door immediately slammed shut, pinching the bag in half, but a panicked Donna reached for her partner instead. This shocked the man a second time and Blaine disregarded them while he searched for the last object.

It must've been in the sealed section, though, and Hugh offered a nervous chuckle as the blonde duo dragged Noah down the locker alley. "Wonder who they are. Should we check it out?"

A glint in the EPF soldier's eye told the detective he would be the first apprehended. So, with a smile, Hugh gripped the barrel of the plasma gun, forced it downwards and then kneed the man in the crotch. Immediately after, he brought the barrel back up so it smacked the man clean across the face. The soldier slumped to his knees, disoriented yet conscious, and Hugh's smile widened when their eyes connected. He stole the gun entirely then hit the soldier's head until his form lay motionless on the tile.

"Surprise," Hugh teased, tossing the gun beside the unconscious soldier. He dusted his long hands in exaggeration and halted when he turned.

Samuel stood stunned, mouth agape like a frozen trout. Several moments of silence passed, but the guard never moved. Or spoke. Or breathed, really. So without another word, Hugh retrieved the dropped Frequency Disrupter near the EPF goon and darted for the door. He felt Samuel's wide gaze on him the entire time, but he couldn't think about the hole he'd just dug—he needed to make a call.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Don's got Mel down to a science, even if she would rather not admit it. And I hope you enjoyed a peak into Hugh's police crew because they'll be taking on a bigger role come "A Tale of Heroes". Four or more reviews, people! Then it'll be "Battle Shell", in which Raph, Mike, Angel, and Nia get back the van. But not without a few hitches along the way.


	32. Battle Shell

**Author's Notes:** Gah. Still sick. This sucks. Anyway. Hugh's goal is definitely not to get fired. ROFL. But what needs done needs done. Glad everyone enjoyed Raph's reaction and Don's impromptu confession. ;)  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 32 - ****Battle Shell**

What do ya mean ya need us ta pick ya up?" Raphael questioned into his Shell Cell.

"Look"—Hugh sounded winded over the line and whispered as if in hiding—"I may or may not have blown my cover."

"Ya _what_?"

"Relax, Raphael; we got the stuff. Well, most of it. Now the guys are figuring out a way to remotely corrupt the video feed so there's no evidence. They may speak with the guard. I don't know. But my face is notable and I will _not_ risk riding around in my cruiser or the rented van."

"Yeah, 'cuz ridin' with us in a 'stolen' Battle Shell will be so much beddah, Reese."

"At least it has no tags and I can hide!"

"Did something bad happen with Hugh?" asked Nia beside Raph's head.

The mutant slid her leg up higher by his side, keeping the human from slipping off his carapace as they landed on the last roof on the block. "He can't meet us at Newmark. He's headin' up Hudson Street on foot. Wants us ta intersect before we cross Holland Tunnel."

"Man, if he had answered his phone a while ago, he would've known to wait," Michelangelo said with a pout.

"Don hasn't even found the kill switch yet," Angel added, scowling.

"Who else is"—Hugh groaned—"whatever. If you all want your damn stuff, you'll come get me at the corner of North Moore Street—_fast_!"

The line went dead as Raph helped Nia off his back. He stared at the Shell Cell a moment, having never heard the detective so stressed and angry—not even when they first met.

"Raph?" Nia touched the hothead's fingerless glove gently, forcing his attention on her.

"Looks like we'll have ta be quick. Don 'n Melody"—the name felt like a cactus on his tongue—"will have ta meet us later."

"On what?"

"Maybe she'll carry him," Mikey interjected. "Hey, she comes here from New Jersey with her super legs, so bringing him back can't be too hard. Right?"

"She did explain where we needed to go, just before we left," Nia said, nodding at the group. "She probably suspected we'd have to leave before them…"

We? Raphael sent Nia a look, which she met with defiant teal eyes. Angel caught it and flashed Raph a disproving glare he understood but didn't want to accept. The two women gathered at the roof's ledge, overlooking the frigid waters of East River beyond the concrete piers. Angel leaned into Nia and whispered something that Mikey spoke over.

"Okay, there's the tow compound, just before the ships. Looks like we'll have to hop the fence before we find the van."

"Damn, that's a lot 'a cars," Raph grumbled, narrowed eyes set on a vast level of gravel.

It spread between the pier's side and an old wooden building used as an office. An imposing iron fence surrounded its length with one wide gate at the road and the words 'NYPD Tow Compound' centered along the bridge between the gate's tall posts. Inside, a surplus of vehicles created a small army, though their colors and shapes blended into a single mass from where Raph stood.

Mikey whistled softly, heading towards Angel. "No time like the present, right? Let's go."

The younger Chūnin swooped Angel up before she could protest. They descended the building while Raphael neared Nia. A sharp jab cut through his gut when she faced him expectantly. He picked her up anyway, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"I'll be fine, Raph." Nia spoke into his covered neck, gripping tight.

"So ya keep sayin'," the hothead retorted. He landed on a fire escape, hard, then leapt for the next level. "Yer ribs aren't even healed."

"I'll stay near the van when we get there. Promise. I—I just"—the female sighed, tensing—"I want to be there for Leo-san. I want to support him. Please. I—I know you're scared, but accept that."

"I ain't—" Raphael cut himself short when he realized his lie would be both pointless and harmful. With a frustrated growl in his throat, he landed like a bolder in a snowy alley then straightened, glancing at the dark-haired human in his arms.

"Come on, you two," Michelangelo hissed, partly in jest and partly in a dark emotion. Raph met his youngest brother's longing blue eyes before they drew across the street. "We take out the two security cameras on the corner—where it's darkest—then climb over."

"And who made ya leader?" questioned Raph while placing Nia beside Angel.

Mikey didn't bother with a glance, saying, "I don't see you making plans. Now come on."

"Might as well," Angel noted with a shrug. She grasped Nia's hand with a smirk and dragged the floundering human behind the orange-banded mutant.

Raph met them on the other side, pulling out a shuriken to take out one camera on the top railing. Michelangelo handled the other before Angel scaled the eight-foot-fence with the grace of a leopard. Her boots made little noise as she landed and Mikey soon joined her, almost slipping on a patch of ice on the rough terrain. He recovered with a cheesy smile, but it died when Nia spoke up.

"Um…h—how am I supposed to get over? I'm…not good at climbing…or jumping."

Angel sent Raphael a mischievous look, whispering, "Cheerleaders do it all the time."

The hothead physically felt Nia pale beside him.

"Alright, Raph, go long," Mikey cheered softly. He stood like a receiver waiting for the quarterback's toss beyond the iron pickets and Nia backed into Raph, shaking her head adamantly.

Yes, she was scared, but Raph couldn't help smirking. "Ya'll be fine; he'll catch ya," the sai master noted before hoisting the human in his arms.

"Raph, no!" she hissed.

Nia's panic raised a wave of pins and needles that threatened the lights in the compound. Raphael still situated her converse onto the palms of his interlocked hands at his waist then gave an 'Alley-oop!' as he rocketed her (strategically) into the night sky. She flailed over the pointed toppers—like a flightless bird trying to swim—yet was silent with fright. Michelangelo's arms were outstretched before gravity weighed her down. She landed belly-first, his head whipping downwards so far, it almost met her swinging knees.

"Touchdown," Mikey said as he rolled her body to face him.

Raph couldn't see Nia's expression, but when he crossed the fence, he noted she beat his brother's arm weakly until freed. It must've been painful, landing on her ribs, not her back. She kept quiet, regardless, and joined the group as they gathered by a large truck. Together, they crossed the compound's inner perimeter, systematically searching for signs of the Battle Shell. It felt like hours before they found it near the back—strangely, between a bus and an older model convertible held together by ducktape.

"And it's got a wheel lock, naturally," Michelangelo muttered.

"Oh, I know that model; I can get it off," Angel chimed between him and Nia.

"Thank you for having a criminal record, Ang," the orange-banded mutant sung lightheartedly. He wrapped the tanned human in a hug then paused. "Wait."

"No time for that, Mikey," Raph hissed. With a push, he prompted the three to the line of cars ahead, between the bus and the Battle Shell. And he stood guard at the head while Angel put her skills to good use.

"How long will it take?" asked Mikey from behind.

"Longer if there are distractions, so shush."

"Do you think the guards know the security's out yet?" Nia whispered at Raphael's side.

The hothead gripped his sais' hilts, surveying the aisles of cars. "Not sure. It was just—"

"I'm _not_ misreading this, Lars. I swear."

"Ray, why are you even taking it seriously? Bishop hands new devices to us all the time. How are we expected to keep up with it all?"

"But it picked something up!"

"You've said that before."

"But this time it's calibrated right."

"Uh-huh."

Cursing, Raphael pushed Nia's into the shadows of the van, keeping a hand over her chest. Below them, Angel's movements grew stiff, and with good reason. A couple of EPF soldiers wandered nearby, moving slowly.

"It's bad enough Bishop has us here babysitting that stupid van, but now I got to deal with it?" The man—Lars—asked the dark sky. He shrugged while his partner spun in tight circles around the aisle, glaring intently at a rectangular device. "What'd I do?"

"It detected their energy signature!" Ray snapped. "You _know_ how he feels about the Languu."

"What would a Languu be doing"—Lars paused beside a Volkswagen, struck by realization"—"Ah."

Ray sent him a pointed look then returned to his device, which lured him closer towards the van. "It wasn't strong like a pure blood. It had to be her, the half-breed."

Half-breed? Did they mean Nia? Raph felt said human quiver below his arm. She tried hard to maintain control. Still, the air's prickling intensified and lead Ray closer.

"Seems strange she would be here, but…" The soldier stopped at the shadowed alley between the van and the bus, peering into its depth. Then, his eyes widened.

Well, there goes the quick and silent plan.

"Angel, hurry!" Raph cried while charging from the darkness.

He body slammed Ray with a force that sent the device flying and their figures sliding across the jagged gravel. The hothead left little time for the stunned man to retaliate. He punched him—first across the face then in the gut when he tried to stand. Behind them, Michelangelo sprung into action with an annoying 'Cowabunga!', but the older brother only rolled his eyes, pulling Ray from the ground so he could punch him again. Ray responded quicker than expected; from his uniform pocket, he produced a small, familiar gun.

'_Like hell I'm being stuck with that shit again!_' the mutant thought, tossing the human aside. The soldier's body hit the grill of a Subaru then met the ground, groaning.

"Guys, got it!" Angel bellowed.

In a second, the Battle Shell roared to life, calling the Chūnins to it. Mikey entered after Nia and Angel then Raph after them. He slammed the side door shut with great fury and then stood behind the driver's seat, slamming against its headrest while the fallen EPF soldiers found their footing beyond the windshield.

"If yer gunna drive, Angel, _drive_!"

"Then you'll wanna sit back," the short-haired human noted, shifting gears.

The sudden momentum spun gravel with loud clicks against the Battle Shell's undercarriage and shot Raph backwards. He slid on his covered carapace towards the latched back doors and hit the side bench as Angel sharply turned down the aisle. He rolled to his knees with Nia's help, gripping onto the bench as pelts like hail hit the van's long frame.

"Always with the plasma weapons!" Mikey yelled from the passenger seat. "We're bullet proof, not laser proof! Gah!"

One shot seared off the passenger side mirror. Just before that Raph swore he saw—

"Oh, come on!"

"Nia, buckle in," the red-banded Chūnin said without looking at her. He reached the front seats again, bracing himself against them as he peered into the remaining side mirror. And cursed.

The EPF soldiers perused in their own tank—one that was sleeker and a million times more expensive. They followed the Battle Shell through the rammed iron gate onto Pearl Street, shooting at them with small cannons from their rooftop. Well, two could play at that game.

Scoffing, Raph eased back, pushing a few key commands into panels on the van's side. A collapsible seat lowered from the ceiling and stretched out until the mutant fit in it perfectly. At his hands were a couple of joy sticks, which he could control like second nature, despite the vehicle's rocking.

"Wh—what is that?" Nia questioned, breathless.

"Our cannon," Raph answer while plucking a pair of visor goggles from the seat's frame.

"_Cannon_?"

The hothead sent the human a smirk when he removed his beanie then slipped the visor on. "It's called the Battle Shell, ain't it?"

"Easy with the trigger happy, Raph," Mikey yelled towards the back. "We don't have much ammo left!"

"How much is 'not much'?"

"Like…one shot?"

"_Seriously_, Mikey?"

"I was practicing! Not my fault Donny didn't refill it."

'_Dammit,_' Raphael thought with gritted teeth. '_Leo would be better to take a shot with those odds, but…_' The mutant scowled, shaking his head. '_Nope, I gotta do this. For Leo_.'

A single button refocused the visors' connection with the outside camera. It was damaged—like Turtle Luck would warrant—but decipherable through the occasional haze and crack down the picture's center. Raph inhaled deeply, hands on the warm joy sticks. The EPF van swerved through traffic in their wake, firing beams like mad dogs—like how Raph would want. But he ignored the sounds of squealing tires, charged plasma, and the group's grunts of surprise until all fell silent. He focused only on the chance.

It came in a momentary jam of the plasma guns. Skill aimed the Battle Shell's top cannon. Instinct pressed the joy stick buttons on time.

"Eat compact trash, suckers!" the hothead cried.

The large ball of trash didn't shoot where aimed, though. Instead of meeting the guns, it sunk towards the grill and chalked itself under the van's front end. The wheels met it awkwardly, causing the vehicle to overcorrect then accelerate into a violent roll. Several pedestrian cars were marred along the way—as the EPF barreled through them—and backpressure from the plasma guns rose until they exploded into a bright trail of white, blue and orange. Its force stopped the van from spinning, so it slid until halted by the sidewalk and a small bank on Worth Street.

"Geez, Raph, are you _trying_ to take out every driver on the street?" Angel snapped, speeding up to take the next turn.

"I was aimin' for the cannons, alright?" Raphael retorted.

"Well, your aim sucks!"

The red-banded mutant tore the visor from his head with a growl, clenching it in his fists. "I know."

"Maybe it's a good thing we only had one shot," Mikey added.

"Can we just go get Hugh now?" Raph spat while abandoning the chair. He roughly pushed the commands to collapse the seat again, not caring if the visor were no longer attached. When it clanked into place, he sunk in the seat beside Nia, strapping himself in with a frown.

"I don't think anyone got hurt, Raph—just surprised," Nia whispered.

He felt her soft touch against his exposed fingers and met her small smile evenly. He didn't say anything while leaning into the seat, but let her hold his hand. Somehow, he felt comfort in that. And needed some for what was to come.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And off they go. Into "Shutdown", where chaos at Black Lotus begins! Reviews, folks!


	33. Shutdown

**Author's Notes:** Thanks, Big Six. Thinking about slowing down posts so it ends on Christmas Eve like the story does. :P  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 33 - ****Shutdown**

Black Lotus' secondary building looked less sinister than its primary building. In fact, it was pretty generic—especially to Michelangelo's standards. For one, the white building stood only two stories tall with high, black letters across the front that said 'Black Lotus Organization' in simple, chunky font. There was a five-story tower by its northwest corner, but that added little depth to its mundane concrete features, minimal windows, and overall stale presence below harsh industrial lampposts.

"Is this really the place?" Mikey asked Raphael from the wide alley they crouched in. "It looks so…ordinary."

"Are ya blind, Shell-for-Brains?" the red-banded brother retorted. He huffed lightly then eyed a passing car's headlights as it carefully rounded the wide road along the company's concrete boundaries.

"It's where Melody told us to be," Nia added softly.

Hugh followed her to Mikey's side, glancing at the mutant with a solemn expression enhanced by the dark blizzard. "A month's worth of searching…and they were all right across the Hudson."

"Ain't this out 'a yer jurisdiction, Hugh?" asked Raph. "Yer sure ya wanna get involved?"

"My _niece_—essentially—is in there. I'm not here as a cop, but an uncle."

"Like we're here as brothers."

"Exactly. Besides"—pausing, the human gave a brusque laugh—"I'll need a peace offering when I see Blaine again. He's going to hate me for leaving him behind."

"Melody said Kaiya and Leo could be on sublevel nine, in Wing Two's main lab." Nia's voice wavered with emotion Michelangelo understood well.

The youngest Chūnin reached for her quivering hand and gripped it tight, saying, "It's time we got our brother back."

"It's time we got _everyone_ back," Hugh corrected, grim.

"Our first step is findin' clearance."

Mikey faced Raph with a visible sigh. "I wish Donny was here."

"I still got my Frequency Disruptor," added Hugh. "It won't cover everyone, but it'll buy us time for infiltration if we can find an employee on break."

"That should be easy enough." Voice playful, Angel pointed beyond the road to a concrete seating area on the building's east side. A lone man in a lab coat sat at a table in the middle, smoking in the onslaught of snow like it were a summer day.

"Great example for a doctor, huh?" Mike questioned Nia with a grimace.

She didn't smile or rein in the fright from her wide eyes, but her grip on his hand didn't falter either. "You'll need to split up in there. If Kaiya and Leo aren't in the lab, then they'll be in Hall F on sublevel six. Remember? Melody said we need to prepare…for what we'll see. She said we need to stop Doctor Stephens first, so her friends Tabitha and Sven can help evacuate the others."

"Melody Gray sure is one complicated woman," noted Hugh under his breath.

Mikey watched him as his head of curly, black hair shook. "And according to Don, we don't know the half of it…"

"Alright, enough talk," Raph interjected while unzipping his jacket

He nodded at the group in the alley then neared Nia, eyeing the grip she had on Mikey. The youngest felt a sting of jealousy, but knew what was right; he released the human's hand so his brother could take it and pull her close for a hug she slowly eased into.

'_Guess they're standing on better ground now_,' Mikey thought with a silent sigh that the wind carried away. It hurt seeing Nia dig her face into Raph's plastron; it hurt worse when the hothead leaned down to whisper in her ear. '_Stop it! I should be happy they're better…Be happy. Happy._'

"Michelangelo."

Sudden, the nunchaku master whirled his head towards Hugh. "Yes?"

"We don't know where either Leonardo or Kaiya will be, really. So, why don't you and your brother take the lab and Angel and I take the hall?"

"Sounds fine ta me." Stepping away from Nia, Raphael rested his hands on his sais—ready for a fight. "Nia will wait here wit' the Battle Shell an' be _prepared_"—his questionable gaze fell on the human, who nervously nodded—"ta start the van."

Mikey grinned at her. "Just stick to the shadows, Nia; they'll protect you."

"Now let's shutdown this place!" Angel cheered with a morbid smirk. She sounded both excited and serious—as per usual. Her lithe form twisted towards the road, where she immediately froze after her first step forward. "Uh…I think someone just stole our idea."

"What?" Michelangelo crowded beside Raph and Hugh as he searched the seating area for the doctor. His form lay motionless on the concrete, his cigarette still burning beside him.

"Shit, is that blood?" Hugh questioned.

"Who else would wanna break inta the company?" Raph added, growling. "The only oddah people who would have a beef wit' them is…"

"Hun," Angel finished like the name was poison.

"Wait; if Hun knows Stephen's been taking his men then"—Mikey frowned at the curling in his stomach—"he must have Miriam."

"Would explain why she's missing," Nia whispered in a pained tone.

"Dammit!" Raph and Hugh spoke simultaneously. It would've been amusing if the situation's gravity were lighter.

"Do you think Hun has anymore cyborgs other than Hunt?" Fidgeting, the young woman paled at the fallen doctor's body, where a pool of red grew.

"Yet anoddah thing we'll find out," remark Raph coldly. "Come on; before whoever it is starts a scene."

Michelangelo flashed Nia one final smile through the falling snow—his heart skipping at the mix of emotions in her gaze as his head turned from her. Silent, the group followed Raphael across the icy road towards the shelter of dead trees and the concrete fence that surrounded the company's snowy front yard. They easily conquered it after Hugh activated the Disruptor and in short moments the group stood at the doctor's side.

Mikey's sneakers neared the brim of a blood pool beneath the man's head. As feared, the throat was cleanly slit with a power that dug deeply into muscle and tissue—like a grudge that needed enacted. The orange-banded Chūnin paled at it, so he forced his eyes off the brutality, leaning down to pluck a plastic badge from doctor's slender chest.

"That's the access key," Hugh said beside Angel. "But if they didn't need this—"

"Then they killed the guy for—" Raph snarled, sais now drawn. He twirled them while the others gathered with the key, scanning the white-hazed area, before he scoffed. "Sounds like PDs after all. I swear, if they touch Leo—"

"Focus!" Hugh interjected. "Let's get inside and take surprises as they come."

Sounded reasonable. Mikey shared a brief look with his older brother then tailed Hugh to a glass side door. The detective opened it by swiping the bloody badge and he held it open as Angel and Raphael filed into the calm lobby inside. Michelangelo stepped towards them, lured by the warmth, except the shrill squeal of tires forced him around.

Bright headlights danced through the blizzard's haze. Whoever was driving surely had lost control of their vehicle across the blacktop, but the engine still revved in acceleration. It spun, swerved, and cried until its broadside rammed the quaint security gate that kept non-employees out. Even then, it spun circles through the slick snow, halting only when its tail end read-ended a lamppost in the parking lot beside the seating area.

"Who the hell is that?" Raph hissed.

"Michelangelo, Raphael, go on ahead," Hugh said as he pocketed the badge. He didn't face them and sounded rather perturbed.

"You know whose Kia that is?" Mikey asked, genuinely curious.

The dark-skin human huffed. "It's Blaine."

"Your friend?"

"Yes. Now _go_!" Hugh pointed a finger like Splinter would then spun as the Kia's driver's door opened.

"Guess this is where we split," Angel added while trotting after Hugh. She said something more, but the blizzard silenced it.

"Wait, Hugh has the Disruptor, doesn't he?"

Raph gripped Mikey's thick wrist at the open door and pulled him inside aggressively. "Forget it. Let's go!"

The orange-banded Chūnin fell in line beside his brother, taking the only turns available out of the lobby. Like the layout of a hotel, there were very little places to hide, and Mikey felt a rise of anxiety prickle his body as they raced down the corridors in search of elevators or a map.

"Raph"—the youngest spoke up when paused at a T-junction—"do you think the PDs know Leo's here?"

"We do now," someone said from behind.

Michelangelo hardly registered the slicing of air before a blunt force met his skull. He turned in time to keep conscious, lifting a forearm for defense against a flash of gray that sliced it. The wall met his shoulder violently, then the floor. It burned as he produced his nunchaku, but they barely left their holster when the same force rolled him down the hall.

He regained his footing beside Raphael by working with the momentum and crouched in defense as an unfamiliar cyborg neared. Dark-skinned, he sported cornrows and a top-heavy amount of metal that ended as claws at the fingers. They were bloody, dripping, and Mikey met his mocking eyes with a scowl of disgust.

'_I sure hope Hugh and Ang don't have to deal with one of these,_' he thought. Then, he braced for trouble.

* * *

Hugh stalked towards the snowy parking lot in a rage. "What the hell are you doing here, Blaine?" he screamed over the blizzard's howl. A hop placed him over the barrier of the seating area and the car crash, but the blacktop ice isn't what unbalanced him. Blaine's heated glare did.

"The _fuck_, Hugh?" the blonde immediately retorted. He left the Kia's door wide open as he approached the taller man and gathered the thick collar of his trench coat. "This is where my little girl is supposed to be, and you _fucking_ left me?"

"How'd you find me?"

"Tracked your phone, _asshole_. Seems you're too busy to think about the _small_ things."

"Blaine"—wrapping his cold, bare hands around his friend's wrists, Hugh jerked away—"I'm sorry, but…we needed you to stay."

"We?" Blaine paused to address Angel with glare. "The fuck is _she_ doing here?"

"We don't have time for this!" Angel snapped. She whirled Hugh by the shoulder, gaze pointed. "The more help the better, right? Besides, he's here and it doesn't seem like he'd stay outside."

Blaine scoffed. "Damn straight, I won't."

"Fine; but if he _sees_ anything"—the detective leaned into the shorter female, eyes narrowed—"it's not my fault."

"No one would blame you," Angel countered, softer.

Her look told Hugh it was a risk they needed to take, a bridge they would later pass; so the older man straightened with resolve, nodding towards Blaine. The blonde kept silent in his boiling anger and remained so as the trio sought the side door. Hugh opened it swiftly for the group then filed in after them until they halted in the lobby.

"Which way?" Blaine asked, curt. He was near his breaking point—a dangerous edge. It worried Hugh; except if he said anything about it, he knew it would cost time.

"Sublevel six," Hugh answered while turning out of the generic lobby.

The detective almost took another left turn before he noticed a stack of cardboard boxes blocking the opposing way. Humming, he tilted the tower until it spilled into the hall with heavy clanks and low rings. They didn't hold his attention, though, and his eyes began scanning the plates on the wall.

"There," he said. "Elevators are towards the west tower. Looks like the CEO's office is that way, too."

"Did the guys go the wrong way?" Angel whispered.

Hugh meant to answer, but a glimpse of blonde barreling down the hall forced him to follow. "Blaine, wait up!"

"Want me to catch him?" Angel offered beside Hugh. Her tone was even, like she was walking instead of dashing down corridors.

The detective, meanwhile, felt his lungs swell. "I could catch him!"

"Are you—"

"Subject change"—the man sought air through his wide nose—"I think I'll head for the office."

"What for?"

"Velma Tate. You control the head—"

"Got it. I'll stick with Blaine then."

"Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Angel laughed good-naturedly, earning a side-glance from Hugh.

She smirked at him, groomed brow arched. "You really don't know me, Mister Reese."

"Hey!" Blaine's desperate tone brought Hugh to a sudden stop.

The man's wet boots squeaked across the linoleum patch, which lead into a deep niche of elevators. "Do they go to the sub-levels?"

Angel passed Blaine to the farthest elevator with a red plate above it. She hurriedly checked it then exited, saying, "It does if we have a pass."

"Well, here you go." Hugh produced the bloodied badge from his pocket, grimacing at its stickiness. With a slight shake of his head, he backed from Blaine's inquisitive stare and Angel's frown until out of the niche. "Go find Kaiya and…the others. I'm figure out how to get _full_ clearance in this place."

Not a second later, Hugh turned. His boots met the carpeted halls harshly. Its impact ran up his spine, reminding him of his age. He hated reminders of his age. So, pushing the sensation from his mind, he focused on the plates directing him to the west tower. When he reached it, his vision blurred at the sides and he wheezed to collect himself as he neared the elevators in the open seating area. A ding echoed off the high walls. It gave little warning before a figure exited the elevator—a slender, sharp-featured Indian woman with a clear business air about her from clothes to posture.

She caught his gaze, glaring. "Who are you, running around my company like a bunch of crooks?"

"That's rich, coming from the lady ordering kidnappings," Hugh countered over the clicks of her high heels.

She froze under his snarl, but didn't falter. Rather, the glint of annoyance behind her gaze faded into subtle determination—like a villain with several contingency plans. And no fear of enacting them.

"Who are you?" she questioned, less stern.

The man remained on guard, answering, "My name's Detective Hugh Reese. One of your _deliverymen_ nabbed someone very close to me—a niece. I'm here to get her back, Miss Tate."

"Ah, a cop." Velma shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Of course you care."

"What's that supposed to mean?" When her eyes reconnected with Hugh, he felt a strange sense of pain and anger.

"If you didn't care, it wouldn't reflect well on you, would it?"

"What the hell would I care about that for?"

"Oh, please." The black-haired woman waved a dismissive hand. "Don't act like you're different from the rest of humanity. I bet it's a story back in your neighborhood and you're just tracking clues, ready to be praised a hero. Though it is curious how you stumbled on clues that lead you _here_. How'd that come to be, exactly?"

"Lady"—Hugh regarded her with barely controlled words and a sardonic grin—"the only thing I'm telling you is you're wrong. And cynical. I'm here because it's the natural thing for someone you love. There are herds of people, in fact, who would be here if they could for the same reason."

"What an exaggeration," countered Velma coolly. "No one cares for these people."

"Or is it that you don't _want_ people to care for them?" The detective eyed the Indian, reading her body cues. She shifted to hide something, a movement of her arm as she scoffed. Her hand reached under her red tunic like she were scratching. But Hugh knew better and reached into his chest halter for his hand gun.

"You shouldn't interfere with improvement!" the woman cried once her gun was aimed at Hugh.

She pulled the trigger in a split-second, which the detective dodged by ducking behind a couch towards the side. On the floor, he scooted back from each new hole that shot through its pleather upholstery. They grew dangerously close through the rain of stuffing, grazing his leg on occasion. He kept calm, though, and peered around the couch's armrest. Velma stormed his way, reloading her ammo.

'_I need her alive and conscious to gain clearance_,' he thought while aiming his gun's barrel. '_I just need to disarm…Oh, shit!_'

"Miss Tate, get down!" Hugh reached Velma quicker than he knew he could move. His long hand spread over the top of her head, pushing her face to the ground as something whirled over them. It paused, which allowed Hugh the chance to pull the CEO up and drag her behind him.

"What the hell are you doing?" she questioned. She tried bypassing him to retrieve her weapon, except Hugh held her back, vision set on a new figure: a male cyborg of strong Russian descent.

"Miss Tate," he said like they were old friends. Chuckling, he picked the gun up off the floor with one of two metal arms then crushed it in his large palm. "It was wrong of you to cross our boss. He's…very disappointed in you."

"Cross?" Velma questioned with the slightest tremor behind Hugh.

The cyborg faced her with a smirk, a sadistic glee in his natural blue eyes. "Purple Dragons hate coy; I'm no exception. Taking our men—our resources—to use in other experiments? Shame. Thought we had an understanding and a bright future together."

"I haven't taken any of your men," countered the CEO cholerically. Her heel thumped against the carpet, but the cyborg sighed at it.

"No use lying; we got the truth out of the girl. No way _she's_ lying."

Hugh's hot grip tightened around the rough texture of his gun and he aimed it before blinking. "What've you done with Miriam?"

"You know her?" the gangster retorted, shrugging his broad, metal plates for shoulders.

"I don't even know a Miriam!" Velma stomped again.

"Well"—the blonde grinned—"your employee Doctor Stephens does. And he's earned you one hell of an enemy."

"Daniel."

Hugh barely heard the CEO whisper before the cyborg charged, arms first. He gripped her hand tight, pulling her across the open room. They scrambled for cover against the being's super strength that tore through furniture and tile like a bulldozer and Hugh admitted he felt lost on how to handle the situation after dealing with Amanda Hall.

'_Well, hopefully, the badge's clearance will be sufficient to enter Hall F…_'

* * *

"It's not working!" Angel cried to a chunky card access system. She scowled at the overcomplicated interface by her waist, swiping the badge's code again across the scanner. No change. The slim LED across the top flashed 'Access Denied' in sequence with an AI voice and the young woman hit it before trying another time.

"Give me that!" Blaine demanded. His rough hands snatched the badge from her then shoved her aside.

Angel flashed a glare, but the man was too occupied to note it. Whatever. They were definitely in the right spot. After exiting the specialty elevator on sublevel six, they followed appropriate signs through the bleak corridors of steel until the path ended at a long section of seamless-looking walls. There was one break in the near-enclosed area, save the open entrance towards the west, a slim door. Its small upper window showed stairs bending upwards to unknown territory, but it was locked as well. The only reason the duo hadn't turned around came in the form of bright yellow letters as tall as Angel, which read 'HALL F' across the walls.

"Dammit!" Blaine hissed. The security feature beeped several times as the blonde kicked it then several more times as he beat frustrated fists against it, howling in rage the entire time.

"Williams, stop!" Angel raced towards the older man to grip his arm.

"My _daughter's_ in there!" Blaine retorted, hitting the LED screen so hard it cracked.

"So's one of my best friends!" Grunting, the boxer reached for the man's other arm. "But if you damage it, it might not open at all!"

The blonde shook in Angel's hold. She felt the slight tremor just as a bony elbow met her ribs. Its sting spread her across the metallic floor, burning the flesh beneath her jacket. She ignored it and snarled at the blonde, who glared like she was a burden.

"You know, you're really starting to piss me off," she spat while standing.

Ping! Ping!

Angel spun when the echoing of ricocheting bullets stirred her adrenaline like a cocktail. A burn sliced her exposed neck before she spotted the gunman and, with a hand on her wound, she assessed the danger. The woman—a scholarly-featured older lady—looked nonthreatening, even with a gun poised with both hands. She gimped across the area on a wounded leg, dressed in white scrubs and no shoes. Beneath her wild, mane of bright orange hair, she breathed heavy, like her movements were taxing.

"What are you doing in my ward?" she questioned with a bit of a slur.

"Your ward?" Angel asked, keeping cool in spite of the tingle through her muscles and the blood she spotted on her fingers. "Is that why this Mister Richard Tilley's badge won't open it?"

The carrot-top's eye widened behind her matted bangs. "How'd you get Doctor's Tilley's clearance?"

"It wasn't hard; the PDs killed him. We just scavenged."

"What? Tilley's…dead?"

Angel couldn't pinpoint if the woman was surprised, devastated, or relieved. Movement from her peripheral vision confirmed Blaine's advancement, so the black-haired female maintained strong eye contact to keep the gunman distracted. "You would think the cigarettes would be what got him, but no. Gangsters with a grudge did."

"What grudge?" the woman questioned. Her confusion read clear, but she had no time for further questions; Blaine body-slammed her.

Or maybe body-slam wasn't a strong enough word. The blonde beat her to the ground—literally. He reached for the gun from the side. When he had that, he twisted it violently out of her grip then beat it across her face twice as they fell. She hardly reeled from the blow's stun before they met the ground and Blaine allowed little time before he slammed the weapon across her body multiple times.

"Open the door!" he roared over the blunted noise of pounded flesh.

The woman peered up from the floor, yet remained quiet, a look of pride spreading over her bloodied face. Not her wisest decision. Growling, Blaine lifted the gun to her forehead, point blank, and cocked it without hesitation. Angel froze mid-stand when his prisoner gave a weak laugh. It fell short under a sudden boom that shook the place like a rock concert. The brief yet powerful vibrations danced through Angel, startling her heart.

She met Blaine's narrowed eyes as heat filled the air. "What was that?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** You know the drill. Next will be "Damage." The carnage continues!  
Now. Some of you wanted Nia to be included in the infiltration group, but it isn't her place and she knows it. Look forward to a mini-book that will reveal more about her 'ability' come March 2015. And the full story of her heritage during Leo's story after Mikey's. And a mini book after that will cement everything. :P


	34. Damage

**Author's Notes:** I wasn't gunna post anything tonight, but a poke on my Facebook feed prompted me. Sorry, guys; sickness and people keep me busy. Here you go! BTW, thanks for the reviews. As always. *hugs*  
**Warning:** Gruesome. :(  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 34 - ****Damage**

Damn, the ringing and the pressure. Leonardo groaned stiffly, only to find his lungs filled with a thick smoke or gas. Whatever it was, it smelled bitter and burned his insides like inhaled pepper. Coughing, the Jonin twisted his head against the uneven terrain cradling him and opened his eyes.

The lab spun in hazes of bright colors that danced below the flickering of lights hung by wires from the charred ceiling. Only a few still worked, so the room's remainder was shadowed, overstuffed with debris from broken shelves, tables, and machines. That wasn't supposed to happen. They knew the lab was a box of steel, so of course any sort of risk like a bomb was to be avoided.

Then again, a panicked child in the mix spelled unpredictable disaster.

'_Kaiya_,' Leo thought, blinking.

His lazy eyes searched the debris along the walls, ignoring its bare center. A little hand protruded from below a bent shelf, between a larger machine and a corner. It flinched slightly against the sparks that met it from a light above. Then, it stilled.

Every ounce of energy was required for Leonardo to sit upright. He pushed a mangled operating table off his leg, noting its bruised, kinked nature. He couldn't feel it, though—not yet. So he stood with aid from the wall and gimped towards Kaiya so fast, he nearly face-planted.

The shelf felt light with so much adrenaline coursing through the mutant; he tossed it aside like a stick and tenderly pulled Kaiya's quivering body from a mess of crushed glass. Layers of colorful liquids mixed below her. They stained her charred clothes with disgusting scents and stuck to her pale skin like jelly.

And when the mutant turned her upright, his throat closed tight, eyes glued to the girl's damaged torso.

Bubbled, torn, and bruised—glass shards imbedded into the soft tissue so deeply it bled steadily onto Leonardo's plastron in warm trails. The unknown liquids staining the wound irritated it to the point where Kaiya would convulse one moment and retract the next. Her small whimpers shot arrows through the Jonin's being. He wanted nothing more than to rip the glass out, but he knew…the glass was what kept her from bleeding out.

'_We told you to stay calm…_' No, he wouldn't fight the tears; they were too powerful and shook his frame. '_I know you were scared, but you shouldn't have kicked. You mixed those chemicals and got the brunt. Now…_'

"Stupid little girl has no idea what she's done," a man spat. His voice carried across electric sizzles and shifting of debris until it settled like curdled milk in Leonardo's gut.

The mutant gripped Kaiya tighter as he twirled on his knees to face Doctor Stephens at the lab's other end. The short Indian stumbled down from a pile of cabinets, cursing. Black smudges and blots of red tainted the lab coat he straightened. It was torn by the collar, where something had sliced through it and over his slanted shoulder. The most blood dribbled from a head wound, however.

"You"—dark eyes settled on Leo, wide with an uneasy craze—"turtle beast. Is this supposed to be an insult? You think I'll fall from one simple explosion?"

Insult? What was the man talking about? Leo remained silent, studying the human warily as he surveyed the damage.

"Months' worth of planning. All gone. And for what? Because a tool glitched?"

"Tool?" Leonardo said through a wheeze. "We aren't tools."

"How's a master supposed to work with damaged goods?" Stephens went on like the Jonin hadn't said a thing and reached inside his coat. He produced a slender container, which he opened, then pulled out large syringe full of yellow-green liquid. His fat fingers tapped it as he added, "Starting over is such a hassle, but at least this way…I can get my wish list of children. I'll just tell my dear cousin I lost them all in the explosion. She can be so gullible."

'_Is he…speaking to himself?_'

Mouth agape, Leo watched Stephens come around a cabinet towards a body spread atop a table whose legs had collapsed sideways. Rupert. The childish man breathed heavy, a hand on his stomach. He was unconscious, but it seemed he felt aware of Stephens' presence and intents. With a curse, Leonardo placed Kaiya aside with great difficulty then stood on one strong leg.

Stephens bent down to grasp Rupert's arm, grinning. The rush of panic that resonated in Leo's chest charged him when the doctor's syringe neared the victim's skin. It didn't prick before Leo blindsided the doctor, pushing him against the dirty floor while minding the syringe. Strange. The doctor was oddly strong for a man his stature. Or, did it seem so only because the mutant felt so weak?

"Tools should sit quietly!" Stephens yelled with a deep chuckle. He managed a right hook before Leo countered, twisting the syringe out of his grasp and away from the duo.

"We aren't tools!" countered the Jonin with a glare. He lifted his body for a strike and brought the back of his fist against the doctor's face so hard, blood flew. The doctor smiled, though, and laughed when the mutant's bloody fist met its mark a second time. "What's so funny?"

Eyes wide, Stephens glanced up. "You think you'll win," he said before he his tone dropped into a growl. "I _don't_ lose. Sven."

Cold, solid fingers wrapped Leonardo's thick neck, lifting him. The moment his large toes left the floor, he flew backwards, deep into the wall. A soft crack sounded loud in his ears. Then, a subtle burn in his back as he realized the damage to his carapace. He inhaled sharply, but lost the air when a cyborg's hand found his neck again, pinning him in place. Slowly, it squeezed, its owner's round, red eyes boring into him like a lifeless doll.

'_G—guys,_' he thought when his vision blurred. '_Where are you? You didn't really forget me, right? You couldn't…I need you…Please…Help._'

* * *

Raphael hated cyborgs. He hated the armor, the advantage, and every little knife in between. Under normal circumstances, a challenge like this would be seen in a different light. Not right now. Time was being wasted and Leo had given enough of that to this damn place already. So, as the cyborg—Pierce, apparently—slashed at the hothead with his claws, he rounded his metal form and brought a sai's hilt against his knee's back.

"How many times do I gotta tell you?" Pierce spun on his heel then side-kicked so hard Raphael met Michelangelo on the hall carpet. "You aren't going to down me."

"Don't you have some people to look for?" Mikey asked, breathless. He flinched at the large bruise on his face, but stood with his nunchaku ready.

"Anyone susceptible to kidnapping by a little girl doesn't deserve saving," Pierce countered bitterly.

"No honor amongst thieves," noted Raph with a scoff. Hocking, he spit blood at the gangster's feet.

Pierce stopped it, but smirked as a hand ran over his thin cornrows. "We aren't here as thieves so much as…well."

"Well, what?"

The cyborg's smirk grew. "Let's just say PDs like _big_ finales."

"I'll show ya a finale," Raph grumbled.

"Is there a way we can take his arms off?" Mikey whispered once his older brother stood beside him. The hothead flashed a look, but the orange-banded mutant added, "Seriously. We aren't dealing with just punches, we're—yikes!"

Raphael dodged opposite of his brother as Pierce's clawed hand charged between them. It sunk into the wall with a crisp crunch, crumbling drywall as it slid out. The moment the cyborg turned, Raph sheathed his sais then stripped himself of his leather jacket. He spread the fabric and charged until it caught Piece's hand. With the same momentum, the hothead caught the second hand, wrapping them closer together like handcuffs.

Michelangelo needed no instructions. By the time Pieced stumbled, hands behind his back, the nunchaku master stood with ready weapons. Right cross, left cross. The wooden handles jerked Pierce's head from one side to the other. Until their enemy growled. Pierce's metallic arms spread then tore through the jacket for freedom. Backlash from the cyborg's claws met Raph with such intensity that the mutant noticed the blood before the burn.

It filled his right eye severely, so he couldn't contain his cry or falter. He bent forward with a hand over it, scowling at the trails of red dripping down his arm until Pierce struck again. His knees hit the ground harshly, but Mikey diverted his next attack with a fierce kick. Stance strong, the orange-banded Chūnin growled softly, his form shaking.

'_Geez, Mikey, it ain't that bad_,' the older brother thought. Even so, wooziness overcame him when tried standing. '_Woah…_'

Piece shook his head at them. "Man, you just don't list—"

A flash of gray met the gangster's solid stomach. It dug deeply, grinding the metal, and once Raph's vision settled on the new figure, she already floored the man with a roundhouse kick.

"And you talk too much," she said, emotionless as his figure rolled down the hall.

"Melody?" Mikey exclaimed.

The blonde faced him, her only ear bright red from possible cold. "You are heading the wrong way."

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Backtrack two intersections then bear right. There will be a group of elevators with a specialty elevator. Take this"—she tossed a badge at Michelangelo—"It will grant you access to the floor, hall, and lab."

"Where's Donny?" Raph asked, eyeing Melody's calm face.

"We stumbled on some things in our search of Tabitha and Sven," she answered while whirling. Pierce rose from the ground and she braced, saying, "He's aiding Velma Tate, the CEO, and your friend Hugh. Once safe, they'll initiate a complete evacuation with her…help. Time is valuable."

"What's that supposed ta mean?"

"It means you should find your brother _now_," Melody snapped. "Tabi and I can handle him."

"Tabi?"

"Oh, geeze, Melody—you're so fast!" a higher voice bellowed.

A sudden breeze tossed the tails of Raphael's bandana across his body. He blinked his good eye, uneasy about the dark-skinned female whose rocket boots placed her beside Melody. The two women shared a look before Melody glared at the stationary mutants.

"_Go_!" she said heatedly. "Sven was sent to surprise Stephens' experiment with Recro-12. But the doctor might have a trick we don't know about. He could find another means to kill him."

"Wait"—Mikey glanced between the females—"you mean the kill switch won't work on the others now?"

The blonde didn't reply. Not like she had a chance, though. Her forearms guarded against Piece's barrage of swipes while Tabitha use her heavy feet to kick him sideways. Guess that was that. Grasping Michelangelo's wrist, Raphael led his brother away from the grunts and clicks of metal, stealing the badge to grip tightly in his own grasp.

'_Don't worry, Leo. We're comin' for ya._'

* * *

Who knew one could feel so sick while keeping conscious? Donatello didn't. There were too many emotions at once. Dread. Excitement. Restlessness. Frustration. Anger, and more. Sorting through them felt like madness, but anything less would shut him down. He needed focus, a task to keep himself from overloading.

Wait, he had one. Right? He was finding Velma Tate.

After that disheartening find, Melody had tracked Michelangelo and Raphael through the security feed while he scrambled the kill signals in Tabitha and Sven. She noted the brothers were a ways from the right elevator, so she and Tabitha left to guide them. And help because an unknown cyborg with the PD logo on his back kept them too busied.

Sven headed for Sub-Lab Nine with a promise to stop Stephens if at all possible. Don let him be in the knowledge that Raph and Mikey would soon find their elder brother and he was needed near the west tower. The feeds were scrambled around the area, but the distortion cleared once—long enough to identify a second cyborg that chased Hugh and the woman Melody confirmed as the CEO.

There was no point in subtlety now; the purple-banded mutant conquered the halls of the second floor exactly as Melody had told him to. When he rounded the last corner, a balcony loomed before him as expected. His fingers gripped its aluminum railing as he leaned over it, searching the chaos of thrashed furniture, torn carpet, and unnatural craters one level below.

"Look, Switchblade"—Hugh's tired voice bounced off the tall walls—"I agree; she's not a nice lady. But she'll be tried and put to death by the state—not us."

"Nothing of the sort is going to happen!" a feminine voice snapped.

It drew Don's gaze towards a wall of wounded couches Hugh and Velma ducked behind. He kept low to the ground, apparently out of bullets from two hand guns and biding time.

The cyborg—Switchblade?—peered from around a corner, sniggering. "Out of bullets, old man? What will you do now?"

Donatello sought a way down when the gangster neared the humans. He swung over the railing, thankful for a support beam at its front. With its aid, he landed silently on his sneakers before charging up the Taser Glove on his hand. '_Nia did say I should take it when we stopped by the Battle Shell. Hopefully, these guys aren't made of the same metal Melody is…_'

Perhaps its crackle is what alerted Switchblade. The blonde twisted towards Don in milliseconds, transforming his left arm into a giant blade that nicked the mutant's parka collar. Donny dropped low to avoid the second swing then rolled sideways when the blade hammered down. Its sharp length cut through the ground easily and he had to back-flip out of range once it arched his way again.

"Stupid turtle," the cyborg hissed, altering his right arm as well. "Mind your own business!"

"I guarantee I'm more invested in this place than you are," Donatello countered tartly.

"Well, that's your loss."

The glove's heat bit Don's palm, urging for use. The mutant stood firm as Switchblade charged with a roar. A window of opportunity opened just as the cyborg's bladed-arms swiped outwards and his momentum leaned him forward. That's when Don's glove met Switchblade's metallic shoulder, gripping it tightly. The current coursed over the metal like it never did with Melody. Its sizzle brought the blonde to his knees and a waft of melted wires filled Don's nose before Switchblade fell completely with several twitches against the floor.

"That is one hell of a Taser, Donatello," Hugh noted as the mutant tore the burning glove off.

The skin felt tender, but he faced Hugh with an even expression. "It has its drawbacks."

"I don't see any."

"Well, I _feel_ them. Is that Velma Tate?"

The detective neared Don, a thin Indian woman in tow. "Yes, it is. I split with Blaine and Angel to see if she could be persuaded to open the halls."

"That sounds like an excellent plan."

"I'm not doing anything for _you_," Velma spat vehemently. Her thin, dark eyes ran up and down Donatello's form—as if she was puzzled over his existence. Or sizing him up for an experiment.

"Oh, you'll change your mind," the genius added, tucking the Taser Glove into his parka.

The proud woman met him with a gaze that lacked strength compared to Melody. "And why would you assume so? No amount of pain will withdraw my faith in this company!"

Don approached the short human, imposing. "Well faith isn't going to save it or the people in it within the next few minutes. That relies on you."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Next up is "Boom". Think that's self explanatory. ;) Four or more reviews, folks!


	35. Boom

****Author's Notes:** **I didn't REALLY get the needed four reviews (Raven, posting the same message twice doesn't count LOL). But, it's been a few days. Kinda bummed about the drop, though. :( Anyways. Three chapters after this. Holy moley.  
**Warning: **Violence. And Language.**  
**Disclaimer:**** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 35 - ****Boom**

Pierce. He used his name quite often. It was rather irritating. Boastfulness never settled well with Melody—it was a trait too prominent amongst gangsters—and it only fueled her impatience.

Rolling an eye, the blonde caught Piece's clawed hand with her own, squeezing it as she studied their blood-stained length. How odd. Despite the obvious edge, it never once scratched her metal's surface—no matter how strong, weak, short, long, or powerful the attack was.

'_The colors are different as well. And his metal bends…_'

"Melody!" Tabitha cried.

Melody glanced up in time for Pierce's second hand to cross her fleshy cheek. Face stinging, the cyborg gripped the gangster's hand tighter and spun in two full circles, which lifted his massive body from the ground. She released him down the hall, so he twisted in the air to regain balance.

However, the blonde charged him with a power that dug her foot into the ground where she started. No sooner did his boots touch carpet did she bring a fist to his side and an elbow to his metal collarbone.

Tabitha rounded Melody's side when Pierce dropped to a knee, whirling into a roundhouse kick. It met Pierce's arm square on and propelled him into the wall so suddenly it fractured then crumbled. In her haste, the Nubian pushed forward for a punch.

Maybe she didn't see the glint in Piece's eyes—his wait for a perfect moment. Melody gripped the high collar of Tabitha's black suit, pulling her back to a safe distance from Pierce's swipe.

"Careful," she hissed.

"What?" Tabi replied, bracing in the hall.

"You are forgetting to read your opponent."

"Oh. Sorry; got carried away."

"Like usual…"

"Look"—Pierce jumped down from the damaged wall then stretched his full-metal neck—"I'd love to hang out with you lovely ladies. Unfortunately, I'm on bit of a time crunch. Boss' orders."

"And you will disobey that order if you want to _leave_," Melody added, calm.

His eyes widened slightly before he smirked. "Saw our presents, did you?"

"They need returned."

"Sorry, those aren't accepted."

"What are you two talking about?" Tabitha added incrudiously.

Melody ignored the Nubian's narrowed eye, activating the thermal vision in her robotic eye. Pierce reached behind him with a smile. What he produced from a back pocket was small, but bright white emanated from its circular shape. A bomb of some sort? The blonde cocked her head at it, looking aside only when Tabitha scoffed and rushed forward without thought. Again.

"Tabitha, _wait_!"

Too late. Pierce threw the object and Melody hardly twitched before it bounced off the lanky teen's chest. As if in slow motion light, air, and heat swelled from it, expanding into a ring of fire that met Tabitha head on. The force pressed against Melody like gravity and sailed her backwards. Her lithe body flipped until she met the wall face-first, but it wasn't strong enough to stop her. She pushed through it—through the pipes, wires, and boards until her head poked from the wall's other side.

Slowly, she blinked in hopes it would diminish the ringing. It didn't. So, with a low groan, it was forced from thought while she crawled out of the crater her heavy body made. She hit the hall's charred floor beyond a few broken pipes then forced herself up in spite of the breath-taking burn inside her torso.

"Tabitha?" she asked, hoarse.

No response.

"Tabitha!" Melody glanced down one end of the hall. There was a starburst of black around a bare section of floor with burning debris outside it. So, turning the opposite way, the blonde swayed towards an unmoving figure several yards away. She crossed an intersection to reach her and once she did, she immediately turned Tabitha, running a hand over the Nubian's wounded stomach.

'_Blunt force trauma. Likely internal bleeding. Dammit! Now Pierce is free and this place…Sven?_' Melody paused, waiting for a responding message within her mind. She received white noise and a low hum. '_Weird. Even if he blocks us, it never sounds like this. H—has something happened to him? Did Stephens…?_'

The blonde huffed, gathering Tabitha into her arms and darted towards the elevators she knew well. Two turns placed her in a deep niche and a quick check of Tabi's breast pocket produced a viable badge, which she used on the specialty elevator. On the ride to sublevel six, the blonde thought it strange the building's locks weren't frozen by now. Perhaps Donatello had reached Velma?

Hopefully; they had little time.

When the elevator dinged its arrival, Melody lifted Tabitha again. She felt stronger than a few minutes ago, but knew a wrong turn of her head would be enough to unbalance her. So she kept focused on her loud steps to Sub-Lab Nine. Noises reverberated before its door came into view. Grunts, crashing, and Stephens' laugh? The blonde sped up to place Tabitha outside the door then entered.

In the midst of contorted metal, Sven stood before a fallen Michelangelo, gripping Raphael's throat. He endured a forearm hammer attack from the hothead before he tossed him sideways, towards Leonardo's curled form.

"Sven, what are you doing?" Melody questioned while blocking the redhead's charged. Sven remained silent in their brief contact, but something about his gaze told her. "Stephens"—she redirected Sven's momentum and glared at the short man that sat on his butt, laughing like a madman—"what've you done to him?"

"To think he was filled with more potential than originally expected," the Indian replied as distant as his wide eyes. "I never should have held back. I should've placed receivers in each of them. But Velma made me stop. Waste, what a waste"

"Receivers?"

Stephens fell into another fit of chuckles as Sven's fist met Melody's metal cheek. She reeled sideways, bracing on a leg, but a blow against her already sore ribs left her hissing in pain. She faltered forward. In that second, Sven kneed her face violently, lifted her by the shoulders, and then kicked her aside with the ease of a punter at kickoff. She rolled to a stop near Raphael, who barely lifted his bulky body.

"I thought yer friend was on our side," he growled.

She met his one-eye glare, even, while pushing off the twisted table she landed on. "Clearly, his mind is not right. Doctor Stephens must have something to do with that."

He didn't really believe her; the woman could detect skepticism like second nature. However, he did glance at the fat man. "Ya sayin' we take him out, yer friend will stop?"

"If we reverse whatever signal he is transmitting. It must be on his person if he is giving out direct commands. Is he?"

"Ask him _yerself_." Leaping over the blonde cyborg, Raphael countered Sven's powerful fists with crossed sais.

"G—Gray," a soft voice called.

Melody's head whipped towards Leonardo. The mutant swallowed hard, his energy useless when it came to lifting his beaten head. She swore he tried to enact eye contact, but couldn't see, though his brown eyes were wide. Stiffly, he shifted his cut body until a head of matted, bloody hair peeked from beneath his plastron.

"That's your voice…right?" he added, a little panicked.

"Yes," she answered. Her vision caught Michelangelo standing in time to take a blow for his brother. She heard her name from Raphael across the room, but Leonardo kept her grounded by grasping her wrist.

"They need saved," he whispered in a tremble.

"Those from your hall?" she countered. Oddly enough, her voice shook as well.

"Kaiya. Rupert. Paige. Quill."

"Then you need to do it," the woman snapped. It was unnerving how her heart stung at Leonardo's broken tone, so she ironed her resolve with a deep breath. "They don't need me. Which means you have to _stand_ and get that little girl out of here. At this rate, it will be the only way we can save a few of us."

"Wh—what do you mean?"

"Melody, heads up!"

Courtesy of Michelangelo, a blur of white and gray soared towards Melody, laughing all the while. It was with great pleasure that she caught Stephens and promptly kicked his head into the floor. Her rough hand pulled him up by the back of his collar. And he still laughed through the blood running down his temple, the break she gave his leg, and even her snarl. His wrinkled features were lit with joy and outright fear almost replaced the cyborg's anger at the insanity of it all.

"You could be like that too, Melody," the doctor said hurriedly while tears joined the blood. "Imagine the power. The potential. Imagine!"

"Where is the device you used on Sven?" the blonde countered. In spite of the heat of her words, Stephens' dark eyes sparkled.

"You want the same, don't you?" he whispered, giggling breathlessly. "I could do it. For you. My favorite. My _chosen_ one."

"Stop that!" Melody snapped. Her palm swatted away the hand Stephens ran over her cut cheek. It barely touched, but it tingled with disgust as she shook him. "Where is it?"

"Such a pretty doll. I don't want to start over without you."

Again, he reached for her. She forced his hand downwards and dug into his pockets instead. He barely fought, too busy giggling. Maybe he thought she was curious rather than purposeful? Probably; he smiled at her behind his dirty beard when she pulled a mini remote from an inside pocket. His mouth opened like he was ready to explain in detail, so she crushed it in her palm, donning a listless expression.

"Wh—what've you done?" Stephens croaked. His chubby fingers desperately collected the broken pieces, gathering them towards his chest.

Melody rolled an eye at the disgusting sight. He didn't deserve an answer, so she glanced across the room, where Sven kneeled. Raphael disregarded him and headed for Leonardo. He shoved both her and Stephens away, but she had no right to be angry.

"Leo?" Raphael asked while pushing the naked mutant into a seated potion. "Sorry we're late ta the party, Bro. Traffic was murder."

"Raph." Leonardo whispered his brother's name in such happiness it sounded disbelieving. He never loosened his grip on Kaiya, and drew her closer, then the hothead helped his older brother to his feet.

"T—there are other people in here," Michelangelo added.

"Then get them—"

"Wh—why?" Stephens' pained whisper brought Melody's gaze downward. The Indian gripped her tight suit in vain as he neared her, clamoring for her attention. "You are great. The perfect guardian. The perfect machine. Why would you…"

"I'm _not_ a machine," Melody retorted, pulling his hands off.

But they kept returning, pushing her against the floor whilst his voice rose. "Why? Why? _Why_? I gave you _all_ one could ever want!"

The cyborg scoffed at him. Her arm rose to push him off, yet he remained close. Movement sounded from beside—rustling. It was little concern. She watched Raphael lead Leonardo out the door and Michelangelo followed with Rupert in tow. Sven, who nodded his thanks, unburied a new figure, though his work paled in interest when a familiar voice called her name.

A sense of delight swelled within her at it, against her will. And her slight smile couldn't be fought as Donatello entered the devastated lab, out of breath and glistening with sweat. Slowly, he eased towards her, a happy grin across his face. She met it with careful control and twisted. She motioned to speak—tease, really—only a strong tug unbalanced her world.

She craned her neck sideways, where Stephens' large, sunken eyes bore into her like lasers. In his poised hand was a syringe. Its color chilled the cyborg from the inside out and she attempted to stand before it met her neck. Stephens pushed her down so her back hit a pointed piece of metal, but the arm she shot towards him was dodged.

And the syringe descended.

Green filled Melody's vision, the smooth texture of pebbled skin brushing her face. Donatello slammed into Stephens' and shoved the man violently with his staff. Maybe the doctor had a second syringe in store. Maybe he didn't drop the first at all. Either way, he fell with a laugh and when Don faced Melody, the object protruded from his shoulder.

It wasn't long before he dropped and Melody roared.

* * *

Blaine Williams wouldn't stop for anything—not even Hugh. He weaved through throngs of people in white uniforms, panicked survivors from opened halls in (what apparently was referred as) Lombardo's Ward. They exited from the main hall entrance on sub-level nine and clamored loudly for the elevators and stairs opposing Blaine's direction. Their overlaid voices beat against his skull, disorienting him so bad that he'd found himself falling backwards, pushed by the crowd.

No; he couldn't have that.

"Move!" he bellowed while shoving aside a bony man with tumors the size of golf balls. "Dammit, let me pass!"

Still, not one of them acknowledged he existed. Fine.

The blonde dug into breast pocket for his gun, which he raised towards the sky. Bang! Bang! Bang! The warning shots parted the sea more so than his snarl, giving Blaine the chance to dart forward. The people cowered from him, yet he felt unbothered by it under the light of his mission.

"Blaine!" Hugh called, now close behind.

The cop spun when a hand on his tense shoulder forced him to. "She wasn't in the hall," he spat at his best friend.

"I—I know; I looked with you."

"I'm finding the lab we talked about."

"Look"—the detective paled as more victims rounded the duo—"we have to get out of here. I'm sure the others have evacuated the lab already."

"What other—your _sources_ are here, aren't they?"

Hugh tried denying with a shake of his head. It was an easy tell.

"That's why you wouldn't bring me along at first. Unbelievable." Chuckling morbidly, Blaine ran a hand down his face then sent his partner a nasty look, hissing, "I don't care if they're special ops or crooks; I'm not trusting them with _my_ child! I'll either leave here before ten minutes is up or not at all."

And the blonde turned against the crowd's flow. It was thinner and he easily pushed through the bodies until he reached its end, mind stuck on Kaiya's smiling memory. A prickle beat his eyes like a sandstorm at the thought of her birth, her first word, and the sense of wonder in her gold eyes when introduced to Megan. He recalled hours of the night spent at her side because she was convinced of a monster in her closet or the thunder was too loud.

Hugh didn't understand the feeling. He'd been there since Kaiya turned one, but she wasn't his child. She was Blaine's. He didn't have to steel himself against his four-year-old's cries for her sister. He didn't have to remind his broken wife to eat or lie with reassurances because otherwise, she would break completely. He didn't have to prepare himself every morning to find his daughter's body naked and beaten in the streets, dead. He didn't have to; Blaine did!

And the father couldn't take it anymore. Breath ragged, he neared a plaque with 'Sub-Lab Nine' engraved on it and turned. Immediate dread wrapped his chest at a body mid-way down the following hall. It was a dark-haired male, perhaps forgotten by the noises from inside the lab. Hugh said something, but Blaine pushed him away, rounding the open doorway until the world stopped.

What…were those?

The four large, green creatures were hard to miss. And their shells couldn't be mistaken. Two stood with their back towards the lab—one of them dressed in pants and a red-bandana and the other undressed. Another in a deep blue jacket and orange mask kneeled beside the fourth, holding him upright with clear panic written on his strange face. He squeezed something purple in his deformed hand as he yelled across the lab.

Stiffly, Blaine's head drifted to where a blonde woman in tight armor madly rummaged through dense debris. He could hear her erratic breath since his was lost, and she shook with a curse. Beside her, a round Indian figure sat, his arm twisted in an unnatural way. Yet he chuckled, even when she shook him with a demanded for 'it'.

"M—Melody"—the turtle creature in orange croaked—"What do we do if the antidote isn't here?"

"It's here!" she screamed back shrilly. She tossed the madman in her hands and faced the creature, a stream of tears falling from her erratic left eye. "He—he shared this lab with Lombardo. It must be."

"But look at this place. And you said…"

Teeth clenched and chest heaving, the woman approached the Indian, pushing him against the wall. "I will break every bone in your body until you _tell me_, Stephens," she hissed just loud enough for it to carry.

"Not my chosen one," Stephens replied through chattering teeth. He sounded disappointed. And detached. "M—my chosen one was wiser. Saving him won't benefit. Why care?"

"Because I _love_ him!" Melody countered in a broken tone.

The fat man giggled brusquely as she beat him further into the wall. "C-corrupt. N—no longer perfect. Emotions are still there."

His opponent snarled at him, screaming hoarsely, "Of course they are! The only way to stop people from being human is to kill them! You can't control my essence, no matter how deeply I immersed myself in your fantasy. I stayed with you because the pain went away. I stayed because I was done with hurt. It was my choice; you _never_ succeeded!"

"Oh? I see…Next time then. Perfection."

"There won't _be_ a next time! Raphael, Leonardo, we have few minutes left, so—" Melody paused when she faced the two standing creatures, though her gaze was set on Blaine.

Blaine met her human eye, mouth agape, as the creatures turned. A flash of yellow in his peripheral vision called him, its texture of curly hair familiar. He couldn't speak when he eyes landed on Kaiya cradled in the beast's bloody arms. It was a sight he hadn't prepared for—not for the amount of blood, or contorted face of pain, or the shards of glass that bulged from her mangled stomach. It filled him with fire and he reached for her instinctually. Only, the beast dared back-step, his glare wary.

Absolutely not.

The gun Blaine clung to with quivering hands aimed at the creature's face. "I don't care what the hell you are; give me my daughter," he demanded.

"Blaine, put down the gun!" Hugh interjected. In seconds, a dark hand gripped the barrel and twisted it away before the blonde's finger could squeeze the trigger. Or the turtle in a red mask could punch him like he prepared for. "We have about five minutes to get the hell out!"

"And I'm leaving with my daughter," Blaine retorted in all seriousness.

The father had no time to deal with creatures and armored women or madmen. So he approached the beast holding Kaiya and stole her from him. Part of his consciousness registered the creature's sense of loss when the man turned, but he had no time for that either. He glanced at Hugh, begging for him to follow. But the detective stared back evenly.

Blaine nodded his understanding with a sick stomach then gave the room one final sweep. Slowly, he backed away from Hugh and headed for the lab's door, which he rounded. He dashed towards the elevators in hopes they wouldn't be too crowded. And if they were, he would race the stairs. Whatever it took to get his baby out.

She whimpered into his chest, saying a name. Leonardo. The man's eyes drifted to her stomach when it glowed and widened as skin regenerated.

* * *

Waiting sucked. Nia kept the Battle Shell warm and ready, but she couldn't stay in it. It idled behind her as she sat at the alley's mouth, looking for activity. When the first few people trickled from the main entrance of Black Lotus, she held small hopes the Hamatos and Hugh would find her soon. But as the body count increased through the blizzard's bite, causing two accidents from the spill-over into the street, she grew less certain. Still, cynicism was bit down while she reiterated in her mind that they were doing their best to see everyone out because they were heroes.

Larger and larger the sea grew until the road was blocked. Nia worked through their rowdiness, flinching from sore ribs and watching as more figures in white descended the front stairs. Just how many were there?

The sirens of police echoed in the distance as she walked the lots driveway. It gave rise to jumbled emotion in the young woman—as if she were a raw nerve connected to everyone around her. She hated the burn against her brain and the weird thrill that accompanied it. Focus was needed to keep from losing herself. How could she find such in this chaos? Especially when the others hadn't called her yet?

"Please," she whispered. "Please, be okay…"

A rough shoulder whirled Nia towards a tall blonde carrying a load in his arms. He stumbled, turning to snap, probably. Yet his words fell silent when a near-by lamppost lit his sweaty features.

"Nia Anders?" he asked, breathless and red-faced.

Nia nodded. "Y—you're Blaine Williams, right? Hugh's friend?"

"Y—yeah." He answered with great pain; Nia felt it. Or maybe that was her own.

"Where is he?" the young woman asked. The panicked tears wouldn't leave, not after the harsh tug at the front of her brain and Blaine's shake.

"Leo—nardo," a timid voice wheezed.

Nia's wide eyes fell to a young blonde with short, disheveled hair. She blinked lazily while curled against Blaine. Blood covered her near-naked figure and her Chi felt weak. Yet something inside her drew the young woman's brows together. A soft glow from the child's stomach brought a nauseating stench with it and Nia suspended belief when shards of glass were pushed from her bruised stomach without outside help. They dropped silently into the disturbed snow as glossy amber eyes landed on Nia.

"Mister…Leonardo," she croaked.

"Y—you know Leo, Kaiya?" Nia countered. Her throat clenched when the little girl nodded.

"You mean that—that—thing?" Blaine questioned.

The young woman couldn't contain her sudden glare; maybe she adopted it from Raph. "_Don't_ call my brother that!"

"Brother?"

"Da—daddy? Where's Leo…nardo?" Kaiya sat up partly to glance around. "Why isn't Mister Leonardo here?"

"Sh—she was with Leo?" Nia barely kept controlled, but the lights still flickered. "Did you get him out too?"

Sharp hazel eyes met the young woman. "He had other matters to attend. I came here with one goal and"—he paused for a breath—"that's what I did. Hugh's just…"

"What about the others? A—are they okay?"

"Daddy, go back!" With a sudden burst of energy, the daughter beat on her father's chest, her form shaking with tears. "Save Mister Leonardo!"

"I—I can't, baby," Blaine whispered. "There's no time."

"But he's my friend! _Please_!"

"There's…no time."

"Liar!" The little fists hit harder as blood dribbled down her hips. "You just don't want to meet him because it means I'm right. Mutants exist."

Blaine's gaze softened at her miserable tone. "Th—that's not—"

"But Mister Leonardo is good, Daddy! Y—you'd like him if you talked to him. He's nice and taught me and Mister Rupert a song. Please, help him."

Nia stepped forward to gain the father's attention. "What do you mean by 'no time'?" she asked, careful.

But there was no reply; not from him.

Increasing pops like fireworks rumbled the pavement. At first, they were muffled enough that Nia suspected they were from a distant scene or a crowd control method by the New Jersey police. When the vibrations and ear-splitting claps mounted, she knew better. Heat engulfed the area like a furnace before a violent force threw her. It hit like a freight train and sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

She landed in a heap of other fallen members—heading spinning, body skinned by the rough driveway her body skid across. To roll required all willpower. She crawled over a large figure, though, and pushed onto her knees, short of breath and shaking at the scene ahead.

A fire billowed inside the cracked building—so large the blizzard's cold could no longer reach. The ringing in her ears quieted the world as additional, smaller, booms stabbed her heart further and she eyed what remained of the structure through dark fallout. Black tainted the white paint and not one window or door remained in contact. Large chunks of its concrete were spread towards the road. Some may have hit people; Nia couldn't bring herself to check.

The guys were still inside. They hadn't called. Blaine confirmed. They were still inside.

"N—no." Nia spoke, yet didn't hear it. She only felt the movement of her dry throat as she lifted on her weak legs.

"_Please, stay put like planned," Raphael whispered in her ear. It felt warm, ticking the side of her neck._

"No…"

"_I know waitin' sucks, but we need ya here, okay?"_

"No."

"_It's alright if yer still mad at me. I'll come back anyway. We will. Wit' Leo. Promise."_

"_No_!"

Someone's arm circled her waist before she could stagger more than three steps ahead. It pulled her backwards, probably because bursts of fire burped every which way. Who cared about that? Her broken heart fought against the stranger's hindrance, harming him when the pins and needles reached a state matched only by the incident from Halloween. It engulfed her with heat worse than any flame and when the figure brought her to the ground with him, she reached forward with the loudest scream she could muster.

"Raphael!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Four reviews are needed, folks. Pretty please? I won't wait for Christmas if you do. :P


	36. Stuck

**Author's Notes:** Sheesh. I JUST got my Internet back to post this. Sorry, folks! Also, the reviews are loved and SO APPRECIATED. You have no idea. :)  
Raven, iPADS are trouble. LOL. And no, Kaiya isn't a mutant. She and Leo were recently experimented on by Stephens with Recro-12, remember?  
Duckie, Kaiya and Leo are two peeps I look forward to writing more of in the future. 3  
D'Fuentes, I don't know the meaning of easy. Just wait until you realize how many Easter Eggs are in this book. Like, four books from now. LOL  
Dragon, it's okay - just got a little worried. Heh.  
Luke, I did my job? Well, awesome-sauce. :D  
Feather, I don't think Stephens EVER had a mind. :P  
**Warning:** Poor Don...  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 36 - ****Stuck**

Alright, who dropped the elephant? Or crafted the turtle sandwich? Michelangelo couldn't quite tell in the darkness. Wait. Why was it so dark to begin with? And what stunk like sulfur?

Straining against the weight on his carapace, the mutant sought freedom against something soft. A strong tug freed an arching arm, which he placed to the side. His scratched knuckles met with a familiar warmth and when ran them lower, they met with thin fingers. A human body was beneath him, tucked between a second one and bent metal. But why?

"Donatello," a soft voice called from an unseen direction.

Mikey lifted his heavy head as he freed a second arm and found leverage to pull himself forward. His thick fingers slipped against the rough surface of something unseen, so he reached a hand behind to see what it was that kept him short of breath. A wall. Thick, too, judging by its sturdy, smooth texture. Without light, the mutant couldn't judge how far it loomed at his sides or above him; but he was quite sure the distance was great since the voice's soft tone echoed.

"Donatello, c—can you hear me?"

"Me—Melody, is that you?" Mikey cried into the darkness.

There was a faint shuffle deeper in the area, like metal scraping against stone. "Don," the voice addressed, stronger. "Dammit, wake up! I need to know if it's working." Yup; definitely Melody.

Mikey strained more under the wall, minding the limp body he occasionally hit. "Wh—where are we?"

Melody sighed in pure frustration. "Level Nine Bunker. Remember? Now shut up, I need to concentrate."

'_Bunker?_' the youngest Hamato thought. Flinching, he wracked his brain for memories. '_Right. There wasn't enough time to get out…The bombs._'

So who made it to the safety zone? Sven never came back for a strawberry blonde girl and Native American fellow. Mikey remembered grabbing the girl while Hugh heaved the guy over his shoulder. Raph was in charge of Leo, who barely moved on his own. He and Hugh arrived first, just before Mikey. Melody entered last with Donny because…

'_Don was poisoned. That's right. By that ugly doctor. Me—Melody was trying to save him. Looked for a cure. Couldn't find…Wait._'

"M—M—Melody, he's br—breathing, right?" Michelangelo cried. The dread shook his squished form, complicating his already hindered breathing. "Melody!"

"Shut up!" Dread tainted the cyborg's tone, too. And a shuddering whimper crossed the thick air. "I had to do it. There was no choice…"

"D—do what?"

Silence.

"Do _what_, Melody?"

"Donny"—Melody croaked—"Please, wake up. I—It didn't kill your brother. This has to work. If it doesn't, I…I…"

The genius wasn't waking up? Michelangelo felt bile rise in his throat at the notion. It burned and regardless of its uselessness, the youngest Hamato reached for the nearest ledge in grasp and pulled until he felt his fingertips burn.

"He's breathing, _right_?" he asked—sterner.

"Donny, please…I—I don't want to be alone…"

"Can someone give me an answer?"

"Careful how loud you scream, Michelangelo," a low voice interjected from the side.

Mikey twisted his head towards the right, though he still couldn't see. "Hugh?"

"Y—yeah," Hugh answered in clear pain.

"Can you"—the mutant inhaled with panic—"get up? Can you find Don? Can you—?"

"I…can't, Michelangelo."

"A—are you stuck too?"

A short yet heavy pause followed, accompanied by labored breathing and a bitter chuckle. "N—nah. I—I'm away from the wall, but…I can't feel my legs. I can't—I can't move them."

Cursing, Mike's head lowered into the debris beside him. The dust in the girl's hair by his shoulder tickled his nose and forced his head back up.

"M—Mikey?" sounded a new, lower voice. He sounded farther than Hugh yet closer than Melody. Or, maybe that was the angle. "I heard yer whinin'; I know yer alive."

"Raph"—the youngest brother couldn't hide his relief—"H—how are you and Leo?"

"Leo's breathin'. I think his leg is really broken now."

"And you? Are you…trapped?"

"No. From what I can tell, our part 'a the bunker's intact." There was a short pause as Raphael's sneakers padded against the uneven ground. "Why?"

"L—let's just say I've had better days," the orange-banded mutant remarked, smiling sadly into the dark.

"Mike—"

"Find Donny. Melody stopped"—he sucked in a hard breath—"talking to me. She won't tell me if Donny's…"

"Oi, Gray"—Raphael's authoritative voice immediately resonated through the enclosed space—"What'd ya do ta my brother?"

Melody didn't reply, but her obvious movements weren't ignored. Raph followed them with his keen sense of hearing—not at all phased by the darkness. The mutant's sneakers ceased crunching when the cyborg cursed then hit something solid. Whatever it was, it creaked and she hit it a second time as Raph drew closer.

"Gray!" the sai master called. Maybe he reached for her or sought Donny's body. Mikey couldn't be sure. He just knew Melody growled and a grunt followed.

"Leave us!"

"I ain't goin' anywhere, lady! He's my brother, so tell me what ya did!"

"I did what I had to," Melody snapped, unbridled. It was a dangerous mixture to Raphael's short temper.

As expected, the red-banded mutant's shoes slid across the bunker debris as he undoubtedly reached for her. "Which was what?"

A scoff preceded a blunt slap. "You shouldn't waste air arguing; you don't know how long we'll be down here."

"Don't derail the conversation, _Gray_. Ya owe us an explanation; this is all yer fault!"

Long silence followed. The air's sulfur intensified under its weight and Mikey swore the cyborg shook with emotion because a subtle rattling against stone echoed. However, it faded under Melody's dark voice.

"Don't you dare."

"Dare what? _Yer_ the one who decided ta work for these people. _Yer_ the one who took Leo. _Yer_ the reason Don—"

"_Stop it_!" the woman screamed shrilly. A sense of pleading broke through the anger, but Raph didn't acknowledge it by toning down his emotion.

"Ya don't get ta make demands," the red-banded mutant spat.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. So shut up!"

"Yeah, I got no idea because ya don't make any damn sense." Scoffing cruelly, Raph shifted against loose stone. "I don't get what Don sees in ya."

"That makes two of us," the woman countered with soft yet bitter words. She drew in a shaky breath then smacked Raphael again. "Don't touch him yet!"

"Lady, I'm about ready ta punch ya in the face," the sai master said, pointblank.

"Do what you will, but you _can't_ touch him."

"Why?"

"Because Recro-12—"

Melody's voice was cut short by a glow. It started as a soft blip in the void then grew defined like a lantern with threads of yellow and white beneath green. In seconds Michelangelo clearly saw the busy cardiovascular system of Donatello's arched body. He writhed against the bent floor—gently at first, but then his long legs retracted towards his body and his hands twisted by his sides. In the vein's illumination, Raphael stared with one wide eye as a strangled cry left his brother's throat. But Melody kept him pushed back, her bloody face occasionally glancing at Don's plight.

"You mustn't interfere with the process," she said as if explaining it calmly would ease her own nerves.

"The _hell_ is that?" Raph cried with an arm stretched over the cyborg's shoulder.

"It's an experimental drug made by the doctor's here. They—"

Smack! The room stilled as the cyborg's head snapped sideways with an audible sound.

"Ya put something in him from this damn place?" the mutant asked vehemently. "What's _wrong_ wit ya?"

Slowly, Melody faced Raphael and his raised fist, carefully wiping her mouth as he tried to round her. Her robotic hand caught his bicep like he had the strength of little boy and whirled him far enough for her fist to meet his face. He stumbled backwards, into a spot where the wall began folding.

"I said _don't_ touch him!" she bellowed. Like a protective lioness, she crouched by Donatello's whimpering form and glared when Raph stood up.

"Ya best step away from him," the mutant noted in a dangerously low tone.

"Come on, Raph," Michelangelo interjected when he noticed the hothead reach for his sais, "is fighting going to solve anything?"

"She _killin'_ Donny, Mikey!"

"It was the only way to _save_ him, you dumbass!" cried Melody in return. Her battered body kept close to Don. Like she told Raph, she didn't touch him—though it was obvious by the pain on her flushed face that she wanted to. "Stephens wouldn't give me the antidote. Th—the only salvageable thing in that lab was Recro-12. I _had_ no choice."

"Wh—what is Recro-12, exactly?" Hugh asked through labored intervals.

Mikey's attention drifted towards him. With the animated light from Don's body, his trained eyes could make out a stray chunk of ceiling pinched dangerously between the length of wall that kept Mikey pinned and the detective's pelvis, which it mostly likely had hit on its violent descent. The man returned the mutant's inquisitive gaze with a fearful expression, glancing at his unmoving legs beside the concrete.

"Re—Recro-12 is a drug designed by Doctor Lombardo," Melody started, softer while studying Donatello. "It was intended to deal with a blood infection caused by the merging of soft tissue and nerve receptors with a cyborg's mechanical limbs. It succeeded in that much, but Lombardo sought to stretch its limits."

"How far?" Hugh added.

The cyborg didn't glance up from Don's increasing glow or choke back her tremble, "Far. She wanted to re-grow entire limbs, stimulate new cell growth and repair the old, damaged ones without surgery."

"So she wanted to c—cure things like…cancer?"

"Exactly."

"Where does one even get…a base formula for something…like that?"

"The Earth Protection Force."

Michelangelo caught Raphael's surprised glance in seconds, asking, "Lombardo made this drug with information from Bishop?"

Melody nodded. "She stumbled on research data from an alien half breed he captured for a time. Stole her blood-work."

"Th—this drug was made wit' _her_ blood?" questioned Raph, stiff.

"With its Immunoglobulin R, a special anti-body."

"S—so…what is the downside?" Mikey found it hard to form the words, especially once Don's grunting escalated to light sobs then strained cries as the glow grew whiter.

"The anti-body is fickle and highly unstable," Melody answered miserably. "Outside stimuli affect it, few bodies can endure it and the worse the blood is diluted, the worse the after effects are."

"And how diluted is the stuff you gave Don?"

"I…don't know."

"_Don't know_?"

The cyborg sighed at the youngest brother's squeak. "If I hadn't…he would be dead. I—It's up to him now. _He_ has to fight with it. Like Leonardo…and Kaiya. Not like the others…"

"Others? H—how many people have died from this drug?"

No reply. That always meant bad news. Donatello cried loudly as a course of light pulsed through him and Michelangelo no longer fought his tears when his brother's voice beat against his brain like screams from a horror movie. He kept quiet, watching helplessly from his pinned position as Raphael drug Leonardo into the light of the genius's contorted frame. Melody's steely glance ensured the hothead kept proper distance before she dropped to her hands and knees by Donny's side.

She looked exasperated as she eyed the purple-banded mutant. It made her look vulnerable and lost, though Mikey wouldn't mention it out loud. She leaned as close as she could without making contact with his skin and fought an obvious urge to cry.

"P—please, Donny," she whispered by his cringing face. "Please."

It's all she uttered—again and again. At one point Mikey was quite sure she forgot everyone in the room. To her, only Don existed. Guess that was love, huh? No matter how twisted it was for them, Michelangelo felt fully convinced if Donny didn't make it, Melody would break. And so would he.

'_Fight, Don,_' the youngest thought while laying his head against his numb arm. '_We know you're strong. W—we can't lose you after we just got Leo back. It isn't right…You can't leave us. You can't…leave her._'

By the time the light reached its peak, tears flowed down the flesh side of Melody's face. One fraction at a time the brilliance eased and Donatello's body relaxed. The last glimpse of the cyborg's face was a relieved smile before the darkness sunk in once more. Hicking followed, which led Mikey to believe Melody cried into Donatello's plastron, now free to touch him.

'_Wish I could hug him,_' the nunchaku master thought with a grim sigh.

"Wh—what are you doing?" Melody asked suddenly.

Rustling sounded—the soft crumble of moving concrete. Raphael grunted as something slid against the floor, but didn't answer. Mikey sensed a presence close by before it leaned down, its breath loud. A familiar body was placed next to him; the youngest recognized the texture of his arm. Donatello.

"C—careful, Raph," Mikey said when the hothead rose. "There's a girl I'm partly pinned over. She's sort've recessed in the debris, but…"

"I saw her earlier," replied Raph from father away. "Like I saw that wall on ya. I put Don ta the side 'a her head…I think."

A quick feel confirmed it, so the youngest let out a small sigh. He smiled faintly when his older brother returned toting another body—Leonardo, no doubt. Raphael placed the Jonin on Michelangelo's other side then sat close to them both. The slanted wall had to make for uncomfortable seating, but Mikey felt grateful being surrounded by family. They were comforting, even in this position, and he felt strengthened when he lifted his head.

"Don's over here, Melody…if you want to join us," he said softly.

Raph didn't approve, yet he kept it to himself when the harsh clanks of metal drew close. She kept silent when sinking at Donatello form. Still, Mikey flashed at smile at her red eye he could now spot.

"We're stuck here," the hothead noted, glum.

"And alive," added Mikey.

"Like I said earlier, air will eventually run out," Melody interjected in a monotonous voice. "We are nine levels underground."

"Rescue squads could still—oh." Hugh's sigh grew into a hiss as he chuckled hollowly.

Raph clicked his tongue, leaning onto his youngest brother's shoulder. "Right; if we don't suffocate ta death…then we sure as hell are gunna be found."

"N—Nia and Angel are still up there, though," offered Mikey. "Maybe they could—"

"Distract the whole team sent after survivors? The press?" The hothead scoffed, yet laid a hand on Michelangelo's tender carapace as he heaved a shuddering breath. "Not a chance, Bro. If we're gettin' outta this…it won't be unseen."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Next up, "Hearts"!


	37. Hearts

**Author's Notes:** Thanksgiving is coming up, so it's a busy time. But we're also near the end. I would love to thank my _Big Six_; you make writing worth while. *hugs* Luke, I get that reference. It's the old Batman series, right? With Adam West? :)  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 37 - ****Hearts**

Their existence was known. How could it be helped? The destruction of Black Lotus' true headquarters had led everyone to a difficult situation. When trapped underground, only so many options were feasible. It's a wonder they survived at all. It didn't seem like they would, really. When the pain hit—even within the walls a shelter—it felt like they would die on Sublevel Nine.

Yet they didn't. At a price…

Hugh sighed, rolling the thin rims of his wheelchair through a tall 'quarantined' barrier at the end of a hospital corridor. The hung, rubber mat parted down the middle with little resistance, so the man continued through a thick doorjamb a yard beyond it. Inside, the bare walls were windowless for security purposes and he didn't stop until he spotted beds on the west wall.

'_They should be up_,' he thought. '_Like me, I know they haven't been able to sleep…_'

"Mister Reese."

Hugh grinned at the Nubian cyborg, who sat her electric hospital bed up acutely. "Evening, Miss Fall. How are you today?"

Tabitha's wide, soft features settled into a look. "Doesn't Olson keep throwing you back in your room because you exert your broken pelvis?"

"Yes, he does," Hugh answered, simple. "But I have people to check on. So. How's the chest?"

"Hurts like hell," the dark-skinned teen answered. She brought an organic hand to the gown covering the trauma, prodding it with a grimace. "The bleeding's stopped, but Olson's still scared he's done something wrong."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a cyborg." Her answer was tart, like her smirk.

Hugh met it with a somber expression. "But you're also a kid. Both of you. Thankfully, the emergency responders recognized that and had friends who could keep your identities from the press. Not to mention a few doctors willing to sew you up."

"Yeah, they saved our lives."

"What's so wrong about that?"

"What do we do now?" Tabitha's gaze grew heavy like an anchor in the detective's gut. "Melody has a place with other social rejects. Us? We weren't good for anything before. Now? We really can't do anything. P—people will be scared of us, think us freaks. Throw us at _Bishop_. We have _nowhere_ to go…"

"Not true; I made calls today."

Tabitha's dark eye turned stony, meeting the quiet Sven in the propped bed beside her.

"What calls?" the redhead questioned. He sported a thick bandage around his temples, which pushed his short hair upwards like a Chia Pet. Lightly, his robotic hand brushed it as if reminded of his condition.

"Never forget you matter," Hugh replied, even. He wheeled his chair closer so it sat between the cyborgs' feet and glanced at their worn, bruised faces. "Even when it feels otherwise. Even when you're _sure_ you're the only one who notices you, there will _always_ be someone. Now, that someone won't always realize how needed they are. They'll be jerks. Everyone's a jerk once in a while. But you have to push through the pain. And if it doesn't get better—stop, think. Maybe _you're_ the one that's needed."

"Th—that's the whole reason we were with"—Tabitha choked as her glossy eye rolled—"We're criminals now, accessories to murder. Cyborgs. Who would want _us_?"

"Oh my god…Tabi?"

The Nubian froze at a female's voice. Rigid, her gaze shifted when a chorus of footsteps clicked against the linoleum floor. Hugh shifted his chair to meet their faces. A tall, slender doctor of middle-age herded a dark-skinned couple in thick coats and a shabby-looking man behind a bright-haired boy no older than Kaiya. They crowded near the beds, stunned by the sight before them. The woman, Lynsey Fall, stepped forward first, her aged features strained and reminiscent of Tabitha.

"M—Mom?" the Nubian teen croaked.

The mother had no words. Tears welled in her round eyes and they fell when a sob wracked her thin frame. Her husband, Paris, guided her towards the bed, but she disregarded him once they sat on it. In seconds her long arms wrapped Tabitha in a hold the teen was too shocked to return. The sobbing grew into occasional wailing while Paris tenderly leaned his forehead against the daughter he hadn't seen in over two years.

"I'm sorry," Lynsey cried into her child's metal shoulder. "I was petty, and self-absorbed, and demanding, and—I—I'm _so_ sorry."

Hugh met Tabitha's wide eye from his seat. Once he smiled, that's when her dam broke and she joined her parents in tears.

"You look like Robo Cop now, BB!" a child cheered.

Hugh's chair rolled from the beds, to the doctor who sent the detective a disproving look. He flashed a cheeky smile in return, but was left alone to watch the shabby man—Albert Nass—round Sven's bed, silent. The two redheaded males glanced at one another, their emotions unreadable. On the cyborg's lap, the little boy eyed them nervously, leaning into his brother like he could be ripped away at any given moment.

"You're sober," Sven remarked.

"I am," Albert replied, stuffing his hands into his dingy jacket. "And…I got a job."

"Daddy's a grocery man now," the boy said, careful.

"And he hasn't touched you, Jakob?" Curt, sharp, Sven's words visibly dug into the man.

Jakob shook his head then situated so he cuddled beside the much larger male. "A—after you left…I thought you would come back from Mister Baker's. And when you didn't, Daddy got sad. He started talking to someone and got nicer."

"I started attending anger management classes," the father noted in obvious shame of needing them. "I…I know it drove away your mother and…you. I didn't want it to be the same with Jakob. I didn't…want to be alone."

"So he won't have to be, right?" Jakob added enthusiastically. "We found you, so we can be a family again. Right?"

Sven's robotic gaze landed on his father, though he didn't speak.

The older redhead nodded, saying softly, "I have a lot to make up for. I know."

"We all do," interjected Tabitha's father.

Albert sighed. "Right. We all want a second chance. Will you give it?"

Sven gave one simple nod that brought his father to his knees at the cyborg's bedside and Lynsey's sobs mixed with a laugh of a relief from Tabitha's soft 'sure'. The group fell silent then. Hugh nodded at the teens he made eye contact with then wheeled to the doorway. The doctor followed him closely, his blue gaze boring from behind. When the duo exited the barrier, a force caught his wheelchair, stopping him.

"Mister Reese."

"Yes, Doctor Olson?"

The brunette doctor glared mildly at the detective's grin. "You shouldn't be—"

"I can't help it; it's in me."

"My friends and I go through the trouble of keeping the _secrets_ from that lab on your and Miss Brown's insistence and you repay me with disobedience?"

"Please"—Hugh's tone dropped—"It's Christmas Eve. The ward is finally allowing visitors and I just…I want to see how they're all doing before we're transferred to different hospitals in New York. Besides, when my wife arrives and kicks my ass I won't have time."

Doctor Olson released a long sigh then pointed a finger like the wheelchair-bound man was a child. "Just look. I'm going to check on the Williams girl, so you meet me there."

"Meet you?"

"Yes, I'm doing a check-up on your fractures. When I roll you back to your room."

The detective groaned at the notion of confinement, but nodded definitively enough to be left alone. Olson headed down the shady corridor and Hugh followed his white coat until distracted by a large family area that connected two hospital corridors. In it, people sat in various groups.

Hugh noted Senator Brook's daughter Paige held hands with a long-haired Native American male. Quill Greeves, if he recalled correctly. They paused their talk with a middle-aged woman, who resembled a wild-haired Neanderthal. Her voice was pleasant, though. Hugh knew because he'd met her yesterday: Star.

"Still scouting the victims, Mister Reese?" Paige asked from her seat. With a free hand, she tucked a short lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear while Hugh wheeled into their small circle.

"Caught me," the detective responded. "How's everyone doing?"

"Bruised but unbroken—unlike you."

"Well, we all kind of hurried in that bunker. You were the lucky monkeys in the middle."

"I—I still can't believe we actually…made it."

She didn't mean the explosion, so Hugh breathed deeply. "I—I can't begin to fathom what it was like for the people in those halls."

"A nightmare," Quill added, deep voice sour.

"It was better when Leonardo spoke up," Paige added, soft. "He was so reassuring and positive towards us, utter strangers. He fought until they broke him. He"—her face scrunched with unshed tears—"I was taken because I dressed down and ran from home. It was supposed to be for one night. I do that. I know people who think I have it all because Daddy has money and status. But it just means I'm surrounded by the shallowest, most conniving people on the planet. They don't have to be—they _choose_ to be. And I can only handle it for so long."

"I ran because I couldn't stand my grandfather," Quill added, glancing away. "Hardass Justice of the Peace. I could never please him. Did everything wrong in his eyes. He always said if I disobeyed him, I'd be punished. For a while, I thought my capture was just that."

"Star did not run," Star interjected with a short shrug of her thick shoulders. "Star was snatched while on a walk to Phil. On the other side of the fence, he was. Saw me go. Poor Phil."

Paige sent the chunky woman a light smile then faced Hugh. "We were taken because it looked like no one cared for us. They had us believe that. I almost fell for it too. Before Leonardo's arrival."

"It seems you really respect Leonardo," Hugh remarked coolly.

"How can I not? In Hall F—at the beginning—he showcased everything I wish I saw not just in my father, but other men in power. The concern, the moving words? All of it genuine. When he spoke, it drowned out Donald's cynicism. And I felt lighter. It…it was horrible to watch him break."

"Will we get to see him again?" Quill questioned. He gripped Paige's hand tighter, steadying her ragged breath. "He may not know it or feel it, but he gave us hope. I—_we_—would like to thank him for that."

"I honestly can't say if you'll see him again," answered Hugh with a short sigh. "Sneaking him and his brothers out of the disaster area was all up to Nia and Angel. I know a few responders saw the guys, so once they hide…I don't know if they'll come back."

"They should," Paige said, definite. "I'd like to know them."

"Me too," Quill added with a nod.

Hugh sent the couple a genuine grin. "They're great characters. Knowing them lands you in some tumultuous territory, though. Damn…I hope anyone who saw them doesn't snitch to Bishop or—" The detective shook his head, wringing his hands.

"Only time will tell. But the news wouldn't be from Quill or me."

"And I can tell you they're thankful, Miss Fall." After a greatful look, Hugh caught the gaze of Olson from across the hall. Yes, the doctor stood inside Kaiya's hospital room, but it carried. "Ah, guess I should go. You kids take it easy; an explosion isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Star was in no explosion. Saw it far off, she did."

"And Hugh is thankful for that."

"Why does Hugh talk in third person?"

The dark-skinned man shared a long awkward stare with the disheveled Star until she shook her head like he was crazy.

"She's interesting, isn't she?" Paige asked as Hugh wheeled backwards.

He didn't answer, but smiled. The three resumed their talk when he left the visiting area, rounding another group of Black Lotus survivors. A name caught the man's eye before he reached Kaiya's room. Addisons. He had checked on the room yesterday, except Rupert wasn't awake. Now, though, happy voices clamored from the cracked door, and the man couldn't help peering inside.

"Where'd you learn that song, Rupert?" Samantha asked. The wavy-haired woman sat in a chair beside her brother, holding a young boy no older than five in her lap.

"Friend Leo taught Rupert," the man replied. It seemed difficult for him to speak since the lab explosion had damaged his neck, yet he smiled through what must've been terrible pain.

"Who's Leo, Rupert?" asked a narrow-shouldered man. He leaned against the bed, an arm around a shy-looking girl about six or seven.

"Is he here?" the girl asked in awe.

Rupert partly faced her. "Leo special."

"Special like you, Uncle Rupert?" Another girl, a dark-haired child, sat on the bed's edge while she spoke.

"Laura," Samantha said warningly.

"Jude gets to use the word 'special,'" Laura retorted.

"Because I'm older," a boy near ten years added beside her.

"Unfair!"

"Enough, kids," the man interjected.

Rupert smiled lopsidedly at them all, but focused more so on a bony boy who sat by his lap. "Rupert missed Tony."

"I missed you too, Uncle Rupert," Tony replied, close to tears. He hugged his uncle and swallowed visibly. "The police told Mommy you just didn't want to be with us this Christmas. That's why you left. It isn't true, right?"

"Rupert loves family," the curly-haired man said while giving Tony's head an uncoordinated pat. "Rupert love Leo, too. Want to see Leo…"

'_Wow_,' Hugh thought, grinning. '_Who knew you'd be so popular, Leonardo?_'

"Reese." Olson's unmistakable reprimand was now reminiscent of Inspector Erb, so Hugh flashed him the same smile he would his boss. "Don't do that. Come here."

He didn't ask for Hugh to follow and outright overtook the chair, wheeling the detective one room down. When the chair stopped at Kaiya's bed, Olson returned to a chart, scribbling notes. It was quiet since Kaiya slept beneath a mountain of blankets, her little arms littered with intravenous lines. On her two sides were Jennifer and Blaine and Megan curled up by her feet. The blonde family slept soundly, so Hugh faced Olson with an inquisitive look.

"Why am I here?"

"It's easier to talk about it when the father's unconscious," Olson answered without glancing up from his clipboard.

"Talk about what?"

"I need to explain it to someone close to her."

"Explain _what_?"

Pausing, Olson met Hugh's mild glare with leery blue eyes, saying, "There are some things you need to know about Kaiya's…enhancements."

* * *

Two days have passed and Splinter's joy still couldn't be contained. Any pain, any ache in his bones that he felt clearly in Leonardo's absence was now numbed by relief and thankfulness. And he refused to leave the makeshift bed Nia and Angel had set up for the Jonin in the quaint cabin.

It was a charming two-story place with an open-plan ground level. Leonardo slept by the rock wall fireplace in the living room, waking only twice for a bit of food. The kitchen in its background was hardly used because no one else would eat either, so the boys kept to one rug.

Tonight, in the comforting light of the fire, Michelangelo's bundled form lined close with Leonardo's futon. His hand lightly touched his brother's discolored forearm like he needed the subconscious reminder of his sibling's safety. Raphael kept to the long couch by Leonardo's head. He claimed it was to keep his injured eye off hard ground, but the father was quite sure his second eldest used the position as a watchful perch over the three below.

Donatello. From a welcoming armchair, Splinter's eyes landed on the genius set on another futon by Leonardo. His breathing sounded ragged, like Leonardo's, and though he claimed to be fine, Splinter still worried…

"Ah, S—Splinter-san, you're awake."

Smiling, the wizened rat twisted his head to Nia beside the couch. "Good evening, Nia-san. Glad you have finally emerged from hiding."

"H—hiding?" The long-haired human shook her head of unkept locks and waved her arms before they fell at the long sides of her pink sweater. "No, I…I just wanted to give you guys time as a family…is all."

"Now, Nia-san"—Splinter spoke sternly with a pointed paw from his cane—"you know you are a part of this family as well."

"But I only cause it trouble," grumbled Nia with side-glace towards Raphael's snoring figure. She gave a little sigh, but the master chuckled at it.

"Family is trouble, Nia-san. It is the strength we gain through the trouble and the happiness that follows which makes it all worthwhile."

"Even if it's brought on by its own members?"

"Especially then. Because it means no matter what, even our short-comings or mistakes cannot separate our bond."

The human fidgeted where she stood, picking at the polka-dot tights she had changed into after a shower. "S—so," she started, soft, while catching the mutant's gaze with glossy eyes, "you aren't mad I did the wrong thing after our talk?"

"Is that why you have not spoken with me?" Splinter asked in mild shock. Her teal eyes left him, yet he beckoned her closer. Hesitantly, she complied, breathing deep before sitting at his covered feet. "I heard about your hospital trip, Nia-san. It never angered me. It saddened me."

"R—really?" she whispered.

"Yes. Because you did not believe me."

"About our talk when I made Donny tea?"

"Hai. Nia-san"—the rat leaned forward when Nia clenched her knees—"you helped a lot in Leonardo's absence just be being yourself. I told you not to believe anyone who told you differently. That included my son."

"It wasn't the right thing to do," Nia muttered over her crossed arms. "I knew the whole time what you said was right. But I still hoped I could do something _more_, something Raph… " She sighed. "It blew up in my face though. My ribs still burn and the power cell was hardly used. Most it did was shoot Tabitha out of the sky."

Splinter frowned at the human's head shake. "That is not entirely true." When their eyes connected, sudden, he added in a serious tone, "You drained the cell to heal yourself. That is a vital revelation."

"Yeah, go me." Nia's words trembled with her quickened breath. She knew how to calm her panic, however, and did so without her teacher's prompting. "Mikey keeps calling these things super powers. It's nothing of the sort. It's just my…alien bloodline. That's why they're all subconscious. And barely controllable."

"If we knew more about the race you descended from then perhaps your control would increase," suggested Splinter sincerely. His paw left his cane to land on the human's arm. It prickled against her flesh and stirring Chi, but the sensation was mild.

"Languu," she whispered. "When we got the Battle Shell, there were two EPF soldieries on guard. They had a, uh, a device th—that could track me. Well, a race called the Languu. They called me a half-breed."

"What a disgusting word," the mutant rat spat, gripping her arm. "That is akin to calling my sons monsters."

"They're _not_ monsters," Nia immediately retorted. Her Chi read a similar offence to the one inside Splinter, and he eased his brows until a kind smile graced his face and his paw returned to the cane.

"And neither are you, Nia-san."

"Sometimes I feel like it. Especially when my blood is used for things like"—she grimaced—"Recro12."

"Despicable things have been done with the drug," Splinter noted in reserved disgust. "However, it has also done good. It saved the life of Kaiya Williams and…and Donatello."

"It was a last resort," grumbled Nia, her teal gaze glossy as it turned to Donatello then one of the second-story bedrooms visible from the balcony between the living room and kitchen. "He was poisoned."

"Yes. And Gray-san has been in that room; hard at work on a compliment drug to ensure Recro12 does not eat his muscles."

"What a win."

"It is. Stephens would not reveal the antidote; Donatello would have died had Gray-san not acted. While bittersweet, Lombardo's work helped. It is quite curious, though, how your blood work landed in her hands."

Drawing her attention back to the mutant, Nia solemnly said, "I—I asked Melody about it this morning. She said Black Lotus had a high-standard of acceptance. Scientists who wanted to join needed to present unique, valuable data that could contribute to their goals. Lombardo was denied twice and one night, while at a bar, she was hit on by a drunk. The drunk turned out to be an EPF member and when she blew him off with science talk, he started telling her things that B—Bishop has done."

"So," Splinter frowned and gripped his cane's blunted head, "she sought him out?"

"Used the man to get into the organization and worked her way up from there. Really, my blood was just an unexpected opportunity…"

"Thus she connects two devastating forces—both ambitious and filled with misplaced intents."

"I _hate_ them, too."

Her cold tone was admittedly heartbreaking, except the master knew better than to address it. "At least the CEO has been arrested, the company shutdown, and Lombardo…"

"Died for her ambition. She wouldn't leave without her research."

"There is a bit of tragedy in her story," admitted Splinter, his chest tight when Nia's hard eyes softened. "How sad it must be to lack real love, your only value defined by parchments of paper and ink."

"Even I had more than paper before I met you guys," the young woman added with a short-lived grin. "All the Black Lotus doctors were like that. There were four main ones in the building—they lived there. One was Lombardo. The Purple Dragons killed another. But the other bodies haven't been found. Not even…Ste—Stephens'."

The bitter name jabbed Splinter's stomach. Still, he managed a comforting look, saying, "Give it time. There is much rubble and little chance of survival at this point."

"Y—yeah…okay." With a sigh, Nia looked up at Splinter to return his smile. Until a sudden ringing startled her onto her back.

"That is your regular cell phone, is it not, Nia-San?" asked the rat with a low chuckle.

The wild-haired human quickly fished the small device from her sweater pocket then glanced in panic at the sleeping brothers before accepting it. She remained on the ground, staring at the high ceiling above the fireplace.

"D—Daddy?" Her answer was timid, careful. Splinter knew the father and daughter hadn't spoken since she left New York, so he understood her flinch and nervous whispers. "I—I know, but…Daddy, they _needed_ me; I had to be here. No. I can't…It's a safety thing, okay? I'll be back so—" Like the spring of a Jack-in-the-Box, Nia's upper body vaulted forward, her black hair fanning around her wide-eyed face. "Wh…what? She…she…"

The human fell silent as the phone dropped from her quivering hand into her lap. Mouth agape, she struggled for breath, the pricking of the air notable. Her glistening eyes slowly raised to the mutant, their emotion clouded when tears welled then fell in slow, steady streams down her flushed cheeks.

"My child, what is wrong?" Splinter asked in uncontrollable panic. He slid from the armchair, his cane clanking against the wood floor, and grasped Nia's hand once at her side. But she smiled at him with a joy that glimmered in her teal gaze.

"Mama woke up," she croaked before her tears of solace increased.

The weight on the master's chest instantly lifted as the human sought a hug. He wrapped his scrawny arms around her shoulders, softly whispering, "It seems all the hearts are finding their way home."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So there you have it. Of course they were seen. But thankfully by a TRUE rescue team...or _were_ they? Guess time will tell. High point is, they were helped. Mia's awake. Kaiya's alive with...changes. And next chapter is "Merry Christmas", where April returns and the couples take much needed time alone.


	38. Merry Christmas

**Author's Notes:** Here it is, folks. The last chapter. But first, I gotta say: yes, 'Rescue' was skipped for a few reasons. And it will come up again. Later. Like I'm notorious for. Bet you didn't expect that, eh? :P Now, prepare for some bittersweet feels!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 38 - ****Merry Christmas**

April stared, utterly flabbergasted at Splinter's sad smile. "I…I can't believe all that stuff happened," she said through breathlessness. Despite an hour of explanation, the sour impact lingered in her gut. "Oh, man, and I just—I—I'm sorry, Splinter. To think I was away and never knew—"

"O'Neil-san, you have no need for apologizes," the old master said. Strangely, he sounded amused and placed a paw on her knee.

The redhead frowned at its slight shake through her jeans. "Still. I promise: if I _ever_ go away again, I'll have a number you can contact."

"Then my sons and I would be sure to call it." Splinter straightened in his usual armchair to glance across the festive Lair. "They made quick work of the decorations since arriving this morning."

April blinked before she studied the length of red bows, garland and salvaged figurines that seemed to stem from the pitiful Christmas tree erected in the living room. "They did this in a few hours?"

"Regardless of the timeframe, Michelangelo wanted everyone to have Christmas. At home. He, Nia, and Angel cleaned the cottage within a short time while Donatello ensured the Lair's safety."

"Where is Angel?"

"Left for home. Apparently, her fiancé arrived without contact."

"What fiancé?" Brow arched, April faced the chuckling master.

"The one she gained in Atlanta. He could no longer stay parted and needed to spend Christmas with her. She left for her grandmother's when we returned her to her motorcycle."

"Oh…must be nice, having a man like that," the redhead grumbled. The words were meant to be tart, yet left miserable. And she sighed at them.

"Have you"—Splinter's tone grew careful—"spoken with Jones-san?"

The woman shook her head. "Not a peep since he went west."

"You will not call him?"

"I want _him_ to reach out to _me_. For once. If he doesn't, then maybe we weren't meant…" April drew a shaky breath—overcome by a sudden pain she had been able to bury outside the city. In the Lair, memories surged, most of which crushed her under longing, frustration, and guilt.

Splinter sensed distress, catching her prickling gaze. "Sometimes, the right decision is the hardest. Jones will realize just as Raphael realized."

"Yeah, but"—the redhead frowned—"I can't wait forever. There's so much I want. A—A family. I don't…I can't miss that chance because he's blind."

"And you aren't expected to. Just…" The rat patted her jeans, smiling. "Don't lose belief. It is a strength we all need, and I fear is one Leonardo has…"

"Has what?" April's stomach dropped like Splinter's expression.

"He is not the same," the rat whispered. "We have him back, but he is far from us. It is expected with what he went through. And yet…I fear his abduction has prodded at wounds that were already present and torn them further. Healing will take much time."

"And that's why he has family. Right?" She tried smiling, except the mutant's sigh across faint Christmas music killed it.

Splinter's voice was soft when he said, "I believe he will heal. However, I sense _we_ will not be the ones to heal him."

"Wh—what's that mean?"

"Easy, Leo," Michelangelo said near the stairs.

April turned with Splinter to where Leonardo leaned against his youngest brother. The Jonin barely kept upright on loose, fatty legs—which a tight wrap around his upper thigh clearly showcased went underused in the past few weeks. One arm hung limp at his side and he partly glanced at the orange-banded mutant escorting him to the couch.

"Check it out, I dressed him up," Mikey said, cheeky. There was a tinge of pain in his eyes, though, as Leo blinked vacantly behind his blue mask.

'_Oh, Leo_,' April thought while Splinter rose to help. The rat placed a paw against his son's plastron and shrugged Leo's lifeless arm over his bony shoulder. They took a step forward and the redhead felt crushed under realization. Leonardo didn't fight. He didn't fuss. He didn't scold Splinter. He allowed the leading, like it wasn't his body. Like…he let his wounds win.

"Hi, Leo," the woman said softly once the Jonin plopped beside her.

His dead eyes stared for a time then blinked. "April…"

"Yup. Back from my trip. Want to hear about it?"

But the Jonin didn't reply, his gaze falling to the coffee table cluttered by fresh cookies.

"H—hey, April!" Mikey's grin was nothing short of heartbreaking. "Since Leo's down, wanna play a game with us and Splinter?"

"I don't recall you asking Splinter," April remarked, raising a brow.

"Don't have to; I know he'll say yes. Right, Sensei?"

Splinter chuckled at his son's hopeful look.

"See? Oh, and you can tell me all about your trip. I wanna know what South America is like."

"I'd like that, but"—pausing, April glanced over the second-story balcony near the room's back—"what about the others? I have a statue for Nia I wanted to give her for Christmas."

The mention shrouded the youngest's enthusiasm and he broke eye contact, saying, "They're doing…couple things. Don's talking with Melody about hiding. And Raph has something he wants to give to Nia…So."

Loneliness. Longing. Hurt. April could recognize these traits any day, so when Mikey left to grab a board game from a low shelf by the televisions, he couldn't hide the pain of love. The woman sympathized with him fully.

"Heh, what's with the weird look, Ape?"

April forced a smile at Mikey's crunched face. "Look who's talking."

"Yeah, whatever. So"—kneeling, the mutant opened the box and begun setting up pieces—"tell me about South America. Think we'll ever visit?"

* * *

"Right, Mister Baker," Nia said into her simple cell phone. "Again. I—I'm so sorry. I—"

"Miss Brown, please," Baker interjected, chuckling warmly. "Your brother was missing. Between that and the accident that injured your wrist and ribs, I can't blame you for being distracted."

"But I let the Hotel be without an explanation."

"And now I have one."

"But—"

"You still wish to finish the mural, right?"

"O—o—oh, yes. Of course. In fact"—the artist's voice dropped yet held a sincere tone—"I feel I can finish it with the emotion it deserves now."

"Then that's all that matters. Will you come next Monday?"

"Y—yes, Sir."

The elderly man smiled; Nia sensed it. "I look forward to it. Merry Christmas, Miss Brown."

"Merry Christmas, Sir. Bye." Ending the call, the young woman ran a hand through her thick hair, pushing a chunk of it over her shoulder before glancing up. She smiled timidly at Raphael, who pouted on his twin-size bed across the cluttered, brick bedroom.

"Ya done?" the hothead asked while standing stiffly. Dodging neglected dumbbells and several weapons Nia couldn't name seemed like second nature to the ninja, and he met her at the clear area around the closed door in seconds.

Her grin strengthened when his good eye narrowed, its amber color brightening with frustration. "You look like a pirate."

"Stop that!" The mutant's three-fingered hand swatted away the thumb she brought towards his black eyepatch. "I'm tryin' ta be _serious_, an' yer makin' calls an' crap."

"I had to do it before I forgot. Again. Sorry. So, what are we being serious about?"

Did her grin throw him off that much? Or was it wrong? Raphael acted like it was and back-stepped, bringing a hand to his temple.

"I don't get ya," he muttered, low.

Nia's grin faltered. "G—get what?"

"_Ya_!" His voice rose suddenly with his wrapped arms, all of which lowered just as quickly. "First, yer shovin' me out yer window an' now yer playful."

"A—Ah…Yeah, I, uh…" The young woman swallowed a hard lump. "Guess I'm still really happy you're…alive. All of you."

"That's…great. But I'm trying' ta tell ya somethin'."

"You're going to give me your answer now, aren't you?"

Raphael responded to her whisper with an even expression. The nervousness that swelled because of it couldn't be contained. Nia felt it course through her limbs like adrenaline and she knew it showed in her flushed face. What if he didn't want to grow? What if she liked him more than he liked her after all? She'd taken the last three days in stride since they were rescued, forgetting any pain for a few moments of happiness. But she also knew this time would come.

"Say it bluntly," the artist croaked, wringing her red and green striped sweater. It felt like she'd just asked him to shoot her.

"Fine; here." Raph dug into a belt pocket then pulled out a small box.

Nia eyed the black container with furrowed brows as he forced it in her hands. "What's this?"

"Open it and find out," the mutant remarked. He smirked, yet fidgeted when her fingers traced it, his gaze uncertain.

The lid sprung open with a faint click and the rich felt surrounding its entirety was cool against her clammy skin. Inside, an elegant silver necklace rested against a small platform. At the chain's center, a pendant about the size of a dollar coin hung, its circular form surrounded by an intricate yet crisp silver border of circles. A bulbous piece of glass protected the equally as intricate Yin and Yang symbol at the center. In awe, Nia's vision traveled along its black and white swirls, which danced in harmony with each other, as they should.

Then, the world paused. She met Raphael's amber eye, mouth agape, breath baited, and eyes wide. Movement was impossible. But that seemed to work for the sai master; he stole the necklace from its cage and placed it upright in his palm like it would shatter at any minute.

"I—I told ya I can't be Mister Sensitive," he started, accent gruff, without tearing his gaze off the necklace. "My mouth an' temper get the beddah 'a me. An' I know they hurt people. Bein' mindful 'a 'em is hard, but…I can try harder. I know. So, I would try harder…wit' ya. Because yer worth it ta me."

It was wonder Nia could hear Raph over the pounding in her ears. His deep voice rang clear, its meaning rousing tears. A swallow brought back oxygen, but her words were breathless when she asked, "W—was that the answer you were going to give before Melody interrupted?"

The mutant shrugged awkwardly with his eye still averted. "Well, I got time ta rehearse in my head since then…"

"Well, what _were_ you going to say?"

"Just 'yeah'."

One look stopped Nia's heart, cut off gravity. Raphael met her teary vision and never had she seen him so vulnerable and honest. It broadsided her in all honestly. And indescribable joy filled her as she reached for his large hands. They shook between her grasp, which only widened her smile. This was his crumble point, his weakness. And he didn't hide it anymore.

"Did you pick this necklace because of th—that silly topic I brought up before our first kiss?" she whispered.

"It wasn't silly," Raph countered, genuine. "It fits us."

"And you remembered it."

"Of course."

"White and black. Light and dark. Positive and negative."

"Fire and water." Slowly, Raphael's quivering eased. The necklace in his grasp was transferred to Nia's palm, which he closed then encased completely. The calloused, pebbled texture of his hands felt hot against her skin. Or maybe it was her skin that was hot. "So," he added, only a tad assured, "are we still together? Though I ain't a prince?"

"No, not prince," the long-haired woman answered softly. "But a knight. I like knights."

"Even ones who say stupid things?"

Necklace in hand, Nia slipped from Raphael's grasp then reached upwards. The fingertips of her free hand danced across the scutes' edges by his broad shoulder and she tiptoed until his bent head reached hers. Tenderly, her lips met his wide mouth, their contact tingling with power she couldn't control. It lasted a moment before she drew back, but Raphael wouldn't leave it at that.

He encircled her waist with a strong arm to draw her body against his plastron. He connected their lips again and again until she could no longer breathe, and when she sought air, his lips traveled from the corner of her mouth, to her stretched neck, to her scarred shoulder. Each kiss left a trail of fire in the wake of his massaging hands against her lower back through her wool sweater.

The actions were fueled by a yearning Nia shared, but she had to speak with him. Tender, she lowered her arms and unraveled the necklace in her sweaty palm to place it around her neck. It fell comfortably between her small breasts, its weight notable yet not distracting.

"I—I—I think we can do this," she said in a voice hoarse with emotion. "I _want_ to do this. I—It won't be easy or simple, and pain isn't behind us. It will be bearable, though, if…if I have you working beside me."

"I wanna make it work, too," replied the mutant huskily, pulling her close again. "Even if I gotta fight wit' yer father over ya."

After a shallow sigh Nia's forehead leaned on Raphael's scratched plastron. "Yeah. Mama's up, so…hopefully, that will change soon. I—I can't wait until she's ready to meet you. I know she'll love you all."

"I sure hope so; at least one 'a yer parents should like me."

He scoffed, yet the young woman laughed into the coolness of his chest. Cheek brushing its coarse scars, she glanced up with a small grin. "She will. Hey, you didn't say Merry Christmas when you handed me my gift."

Raph flashed a mock look, but leaned down with a smirk. "Merry Christmas," he whispered. Then he stole her lips.

* * *

Melody sent Donatello a sidelong glance in the Lair without so much as a twitch or bat of the eye. "Should you not be in bed?" she questioned dully.

The mutant flashed a gap-tooth smile from his seat at the metal table, saying, "I've been sleeping for the better part of three days. I need a break."

"A break from healing is never a wise idea," the cyborg retorted, monotonous despite the inkling of irritation that cut through her.

"True," Don drawled. But with the same smile, he folded his shapely arms across the tabletop so his head rested on them. "Still, we don't want me to stiffen up. Or starve. Dinner's soon. You're coming, right?"

Melody stared down at the ninja. Outside, she looked impassive about the subject. It was just a meal, after all. Inside? Her heart quickened to a level that riled an uneasy sigh, her robotic feet shifting until she returned to the paper work she had been working on for hours.

"Mel," said Donatello, soft. Two green fingers landed on her writing hand, her attention drawn by their rich color rather than their pressure.

"I am sure you would prefer your family enjoy the meal."

"They would enjoy it with you there."

"I have done too much for them to want me…"

"Is that why you've been squirreling yourself away?" The fingers tightened, though Mel could only tell so because the knuckles whitened. "Have you even tried talking to them since the rescue?"

"I have spoken with them all. In passing."

"But you haven't explained anything."

Frowning, the cyborg tried pushing Donny's hand off; only he countered with his other and rooted her arms to the cool table with his grip. "Why?"

She couldn't meet his stern gaze, so her cool vision drifted across the half-lit Lab to a cluttered shelf. "None of them wish to hear; you can see it in their faces. Besides, what could I say to make things…okay?"

"They just need to understand you."

"And what if they do not wish that? Or I—" Melody stopped to swallow. The lump in her throat remained, though, and tasted bitter as Donatello forced her closer on weakened legs.

"You want them to accept you," the mutant started, just above a whisper. "Otherwise, you would've left by now."

"That means nothing," the cyborg mumbled. It was a useless lie, yet it kept her collected.

"Oh?" Of course he didn't believe her; it sounded in his voice. "Well, you could always defend yourself by pointing out how hard you've worked for Leo and I. Leo needs more time to recover, naturally. But me? I'm fine."

"Fine?" Melody scoffed. "You almost died, Donatello. Do not take it lightly."

"Believe me; I don't," countered the male as his tone dropped.

"It seems like you are. You have no idea how distasteful Stephen's poison is. It breaks down the body's proteins, liquefied them. If it had worked—"

The mutant raised a hand to the cyborg's lips then lowered it. "Well it didn't, alright? You countered it."

"Yes. With Recro-12, which is _no_ better."

"I'm not dead, so I take it as better."

"_Donny_!" Melody's voiced cracked with a dread that expanded her chest. "We do not know _what_ the drug's longer-term effects are. I—I sought any other solution, but Stephens…"

"It's okay," said Donatello softly.

The smile he sent was puzzling, so she distanced herself from the table until something inside her snapped. "No, it's not okay!" she cried near tears. "I…I was scared. I panicked. I didn't want to use the same drug on you that brought so much death. But my choices were—"

"Mel"—the purple-banded mutant rose from his seat to capture her wrists—"you saved my life. I can't say I'm happy that Recro-12 is in me. And I can't say it isn't scary not knowing its full effects. However, I _can_ say I'm happy you cared enough to do it. I'm also happy I have you should the drug turn sour. Lord knows neither Mikey nor Raph know how to measure a beaker. They'd try, mind you. But…"

"H—how?" the cyborg whispered.

Don cocked his head with inquiring eyes.

"How can you still…talk to me?"

"I've already told you."

"But it doesn't make sense. I—I don't—how?" Her gaze didn't rise from the tall mutant's wrapped plastron because she didn't trust her voice. It narrowed at the white gauze, her body trembling. "How can you forgive me? Anyone else would've—"

"Well, I'm not just anyone," Donny interjected—stern like his grip. "I'm not like those people who would blame you for lashing out in hurt, especially since I was the one to hurt you. Our paths aren't always straight. We stray. But the right people can guide us back. You know?"

"You think you guided me back?" The blonde barely croaked out the words; they were starting to stick in her dry throat.

The genius chuckled softly, stepping close until Melody felt lighthearted from a surge of emotions she vainly fought. "If you want it in your terms," his lower voice started beside her only ear, "I broke your heart and you broke mine. We're even. Now, if you want…we can rebuild our hearts. Together."

"Do you think there's anything left to stitch or mend?" she asked under her short breath.

"There's plenty," he whispered back. "You don't want to see it. But you can feel it anyway. I know you can; right here." Lifting Melody's robotic hand, Don placed it above her left breast and pressed it so their intertwined fingers detected her erratic pulse. She leaned backwards from the heated touch, except his other arm promptly captured her back to keep her hips at his plastron. "It's clear what you want, so why do you hide?"

First instinct told her to deny. Next instinct told that would be pointless. There was a tactful escape for the conversation. Were Melody with anyone else, were she not so close to Donatello, maybe she would know it. Instead, her mind drew blank while rushing with unbearable feelings only he could rouse with a look or a word. A touch.

Breath ragged, eye prickling, she glared at the ground, uttering hoarsely, "I—I lived my life around people who hate me and the homeless. I…can't take any more of that. I'm tired of hate."

"You're scared my family hates you."

The words struck like lightening. It riled a pain that made Melody wish she could disappear altogether. But Don's grip kept her grounded. It stung through her artificial limbs, tingling deep in her bones as he chuckled into the flesh side of her neck.

"It took me four years to love you this much," he said, kind. "You can be a hard one to warm up to and so can…some of my brothers. Give it time. Work for it. Work for _us_."

Us. Melody shivered at the soft word and found herself lost at how she ached with longing when the faintest of his pebbly skin brushed her cheek. Slowly, her head turned until her gaze met deep brown eyes.

"Y—you still want to work for us?" she asked, shaky.

He kept a serious expression and low voice when her face neared his. "Will you stop asking that? It's up to you now."

Fine; he won. The urge had grown too strong when their noses touched anyway, so she closed her eye and tilted her head as their lips hesitantly met. For a moment, it was faint like a ghost. But then a surge of want flooded from deep inside Melody that she could not longer keep at bay. It deepened the kiss when the mutant raised a hand to the back of her head and messaged the hairs at the base of her skull tenderly until her lungs cried for oxygen. Their parting felt like denying magnetism, yet she managed it after a hard swallow.

"I love you," she said, lower than a whisper. "And I'm done being alone."

Donatello smiled at her. He remained quiet for a long moment while he placed kisses around her face and the sensitive border between her skin and metal. The contact caused her to shiver, which had the genius smirking against her skin. With one firm kiss against her neck, he straightened his head to meet her gaze, their foreheads touching.

"That's what I've wanted for you for years," he noted. "E—even if it wasn't going to be with me…I didn't want you alone. Now you don't have to be. You can have a real family—not just people who see you as a protector, but…people who will protect you in turn. Even if you don't want protection. Th—that's what family is. So give them a chance like you did me, okay?"

"Y—you'll meddle and tell them the same thing, won't you?" the cyborg countered, though her amusement couldn't be hid.

"Our clan's been growing recently. It'll be nice if we all got along. Don't you think?"

"I won't suck up to them." Melody spoke without fear and full of truth.

But Donny's grin never faltered, even at her mild glare. "And they feel likewise, as you already know. It'll get easier, though. Promise. So…will you have Christmas dinner with us?"

The blonde felt her emotions settling like the sinking of an anchor. They now felt distant at the thought of a family meal, but the mutant's brown eyes ensured they weren't lost. Her expression evened into listlessness, though she knew Donny sensed otherwise when she said,

"Yes."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for scooting Angel out like that, but I had another focus. And she isn't gone forever. Heh. There _is_ an epilogue to come. I'll have more to say, closing-wise, when I post that. :D


	39. Epilogue

**Author's Notes:** Oh my gosh, the END. Can you believe it? Dragon, what is Mennie? :) Now, I'll let you read before I say my final words for the story. Enjoy!  
**Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders, Hugh Reese, Melody Gray, and any other Original Characters you notice belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Splinter chuckled under his breath. He never stirred from the sofa in April's apartment, but he also couldn't tear his eyes from the dubious look Raphael sent Nia as she pushed a small bowl towards his face near the kitchen.

"Come on, try it," the dark-haired woman said insistently.

The red-banded Chūnin backed away from his girlfriend. "What is it?"

"It's good."

"What? Is it?"

"It's hummus."

"What us?"

Nia gave a little sigh at the mutant's pointed finger and scooped some hummus from the container with a pita chip she was holding. "It's made from chickpeas."

"Does it got meat?"

"It's vegetarian."

"Then what good is it?" His wide mouth pursed when the chip neared, so the young woman pushed it closer to him.

"I didn't make it!"

"I don't want—" Raph's opening was all Nia required to stuff the food inside his mouth. He almost choked at the sudden persistence, but chewed tentatively while eyeing Nia's timid smile with one good eye.

"So?" she asked with hope.

The hothead flashed a defiant look behind his eye patch. Silent, he snatched the bowl from Nia's hands and sought the bag of pita chips on the short counter space. He didn't comment, so Nia simply grinned cutely—knowing very well she was proven right.

'_It seems Raphael has finally accepted his need for water,_' Splinter thought as he steadied his gnarled cane. '_What a good way to start the New Year…_'

"H—hey, Leo-san, would you like to try?" Nia called across the living room.

She stole the ingredients from her boyfriend, passed April and Donatello at the dining table between the kitchen and seating area, then approached Michelangelo by the windows. Flashing him a quick smile, she kneeled at the coffee table beside Leonardo's wrapped feet. Her vision rose to his stoic face, but he didn't so much as flinch in his sofa seat near Splinter.

"Raph tried it," the pale human added. With a generous glob mounted on a curved chip, she raised it to Leonardo, who stared blankly in reply. "L—Leo-san?" He vaguely scrunched his face before the chip lowered and Nia's optimism fell from her expression as the chip reached her lap. "Y—you don't even want to talk to us now? Come on, you haven't said anything in days. I—I miss talking with you."

The Jonin blinked in response then briefly glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Splinter longer than the rest. "I have nothing to say," he grumbled hoarsely while lowering his eyes to Nia.

She glanced up from the floor with glossy eyes, which widened in surprise when a chorus of small pops erupted from the kitchen. They tensed Leonardo's body in an instant, causing him to turn in alarm against the couch. Before he pushed his weak limbs over the armrest, Michelangelo gripped his shoulder. The sudden touch whirled the Jonin's head Mikey's way, so the youngest offered a calming smile.

"It's the popcorn in the microwave, Bro," Mikey said with a firm pat of Leo's rigid arm. "That's all. You're safe. Th—this is a New Year's party; expect city fireworks too, remember?"

The blue-banded mutant didn't reply. Mikey left to tend the microwave—no doubt as a means of easing the quickened breath of his eldest brother. Leonardo tried hard to regain his senses, yet Splinter knew he struggled with memories he couldn't control. In concern, Nia reached for his knee. So Splinter captured her wrist and shook his head sadly. A stiff moment passed then the wizened rat released her hand, noting Leo's new calmness.

"I—I want to go lay down," the Jonin croaked.

Instantly, Donatello rose from his seat and moved to help Leonardo stand. Raphael and Michelangelo both offered their hand, but the purple-banded mutant shook his head while mentioning the impracticality of their bulk in such a small apartment. The tall Chūnin conquered the steps with minimal effort, passing a lone figure on the stairs. Melody. She watched silently as the duo disappeared from sight.

Perhaps he was the only one to notice the trace of guilt that drew her face downwards because Raphael sent the cyborg a dirty look and Michelangelo avoided her completely. She sunk into her stair seat, wordless as the others averted their attention; so, with a shuddering breath, Nia rose to flash Splinter a pained smile he returned.

"H—how long do you think he'll be like this?" the dark-haired human questioned.

"I cannot say," Splinter replied grimly. "When we return home, though, there are important matters I must discuss with him."

"Important matters?"

"Pizza time!"

The entire room froze. Neither Splinter nor his sons required a prompt to hide at an unfamiliar voice. He melded into the shadows behind the windows' long draperies, though such sudden movement brought burning pain through his bones. The wizened rat hissed softy as he watched Nia spin in confusion and April chuckle. The redhead opened the wooden door leading to Second Time Around below, which allowed a blonde female in without any hesitation.

Her red and white Anthony's Pizza uniform looked large because of her small build and she lifted the rim of her cap's bill to glance around. She stood shorter than Nia with an impish look about her freckled face, so when lifting the stack of five pizza boxes with one arm, her mild glare looked misplaced.

"Signora," she said, unafraid, "it's common courtesy to meet the deliveryman _at_ the door."

"Did you ring the doorbell?" April asked while relieving the blonde of her load.

"Signora?" Nia echoed.

"Tre—three times," added the blonde with a light huff.

"Wait, how did you get up here?"

Stuffing her hands into the large pockets of her company jacket, the blonde's gaze drifted across the room—almost like she were looking for the ninja. "Capo frowns on prank calls. Needed to check it out."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The door was unlocked."

"Was it?" April looked quite assured it hadn't been and with a puzzled expression retrieved her wallet after placing the pizzas on the dining table.

"That's a lot of pizza for you and your _one_ friend." The blonde's gaze lingered on Splinter's hiding spot, but she quickly took April's money.

"We're pretty hungry," the redhead noted.

The blonde flashed a look at Nia then April. "Yeah, the two of you look like real eaters."

"Keep the change. Sorry I didn't hear the doorbell."

"Hey, nessun problema." Smirking, the delivery girl spun on her sneaker's heel and headed for the door. "Felice Anno Nuovo!"

"Wh—what language was that?" Nia asked when the door shut.

April huffed. "I don't know, but I don't trust her. She looked mischievous."

"Naw, she looked cute," Michelangelo added once out of hiding. "Like, _really_ cute."

Raphael helped his father off the windowsill, a grimace across his face. "Ya would."

"Did you catch her name?" the youngest brother asked April. He was unable to hide his intrigue. Then again, he also wasn't trying.

"Face it, Mike; ya ain't got a shot wit' a girl like that."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, be nice to him!" Nia interjected after Michelangelo stomped his foot.

In an instant, the orange-banded Chūnin wrapped his arms around Nia's shoulders and drew her into a hug. "I have the _best_ little sister. You'd help me talk to her if I really wanted, wouldn't you?"

The human gave a nervous laugh while the strong scent of pepperoni pizza filled the room. The group settled into a light argument between the two brothers with Nia in its center. From the table, April called Donatello, who just arrived at Melody's side to coax her off her seat. Splinter smiled at them all. And in that moment, he couldn't help wishing in the New Year Leonardo and Michelangelo would find the same happiness Raphael and Donatello had.

* * *

Agent John Bishop smiled. It wasn't forced and it wasn't joyous, either. It was simple common practice since involvement with the NYPD increased. Commissioner Powell was an easy pawn to influence and because of such, the EPF leader held a positive imagine in the eyes of the public. Which was only natural. He was their savior, after all.

Even if many of them were ignorant of the truth.

"Um, Sir?" a casual voice called.

Bishop straightened with his arms folded behind his back, facing the two men in a small room lit by a single pendulum lamp. "Mister Yahna and Mister Biosvert, it is good to see you on your feet."

"You helped with that process, Sir," spoke the one of the right—a red-faced older man with wire glasses and short, dark hair. He side-glanced the lean figure at his side: another dark-haired male, who stared at Bishop with downturned, bright gray eyes.

"Biosvert is right," the younger man said as he raised his narrow, cleft chin. "Otherwise, we'd be dead. Tell us, why _did_ you send men to pull us out before the police?"

"You must've already known who Yahna and I worked for since you went through the trouble of sneaking us out," Biosvert contributed.

Bishop chuckled at their leeriness. "Yes, I did know. Thanks to a connection with a previous _mole_."

"Lombardo," Yahna whispered in disdain.

"Exactly. She was quite the trouble. But think of it this way, if not for her, you two would be dead and I would not have this opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?" questioned Biosvert, intrigued in both tone and mannerisms.

"You see, I am a collector of misunderstood doctors and scientists," Bishop noted with a growing grin. "The Black Lotus had interesting goals. Some of those goals live through you two. So, I would like to help you continue your research."

"Really?" Yahna asked as his dark brows knit.

"What's the catch?" Biosvert added.

"You simply have to work for me, follow my guidelines. Is that doable?"

Yahna leaned forward in his chair, smirking. "And we'll get all the resources we need?"

"Everything a scientist could desire."

"Even for DNA splicing?"

Bishop's grin turned joyous when he met the hopeful eyes of Biosvert then Yahna. "It is what I look forward to the most."

"In that case"— Biosvert also leaned forward—"count us in."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Bet you wondered what Bishop was up to. Now you know a bit. *wiggles brows* More on that in "A Tale of Heroes". And NO, it's NOT the next story I will post...Up next in the series is "_Sunrise_", an important Mel and Don centric mini-book. It'll be released throughout the month of _January 2015_ and contain a SHOCK along with much BONDING. *sly look* Now. *clears throat*

First, I admit; the comments of wanting more left a silly grin on my face. Thanks, guys. Because of it, you will get more. And answers. And more questions. I just need a bit of a break. :D

Second, a round of thanks (in time for Thanksgiving lol!). Reviewers (my "Big Six") are what fueled the release of this book. Those who reviewed are highly appreciated and I'm always eager to know your thoughts.

Luke, you never cease to entertain. You have a sass that often makes me laugh. So thanks. :) Also, my 100th AND 200th reviewer for Hollow Hearts. Give yourself a pat on the back for that!

Dragon, your energy is something to look forward to. Thanks for pouring some of your love and excitement into Hollow Hearts. *hugs*

Feather, you leave such thought-felt reviews. I can tell how much you care for the characters and that, in turn, gives me confidence to continue this storyline. It means a lot. :D

D, you have an occasional use of sarcasm that I find amusing, seeing as how I'm quite sarcastic myself. And you have a knack for bringing up questions not yet meant to be answered. It's good to be on the trail, so be patient: all will be revealed in TIME. ;D

Raven, your eagerness can't be missed and I love how it overflows through your animated words. To see how invested you are into the storyline is both wonderful and refreshing. *cheesy grin*

Duckie, you are such a wonderful lady-creative, and so supportive and helpful. Thanks for ALL you've done for me and being my beta. I'd be a simple madwoman without you. Least now I'm a madwoman with support. *big hug*

I hope all of you (and more?) stick with me through future books because, boy, I've got plans. Have a WONDERFUL Thanksgiving and a JOYOUS Holiday! I'll see you come _January 1st_ for the debut of "_Sunrise_". But if you want to chat VIA PM before then, I'm open. Peace for now! :D


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